Water, Water EverwhereA Story by Shelley Holt-Lowrey Just another day... I have never been afraid to tell people that I am handy. Around the house I mean. With tools. All kinds of tools. I know how to properly operate a line level, I know the difference between a slotted and phillips head on a screw driver, can use a drill, blah blah blah. No big deal but I do know my way around a tool box. (I do the tend to draw the line at reciprocating saws and their ilk however. They kinda scare me.) But I am handy. And I'm good in a crisis too. I don't go all girl and scream. I don't run around wondering what to do. I just lay in, assess and start in. It's just who I am. I am not, however, typically at the top of my game at 4 am in the morning. The other morning, I was awakened by a high pitched shriek that sounded eerily like a cat caught in a blender. I was cozy and warm and tucked in nice. My body was trying to tell me to get up, and had just given me the first high five of the morning. I was adeptly ignoring it in an effort to gain a few more blissful hours of warm down covered comfort. I dismissed the sound as something which may have been residual noise pollution from a recent dream, and I pulled the blankets higher. But it didn't go away. In fact, it got louder. More insistent. And shrieky. And damn if it wasn't calling my name. I became coherent enough to do a tick off of all my current insurance policies: Homeowners, Life, Auto, Health and Dental. Yep! All current. Only then was I able to make my way from my warm bed into the harsh cold reality of whatever disaster was currently downstairs shrieking my name. OK! I'm up! I grabbed the first large warm thing that I passed which may have been my robe, or perhaps it was the dog's bed, rammed my feet into what I hoped were my slippers and not my dog and bounded down the stairs! I landed on the last step with a thud and came face to face with my oldest sister (who currently lives with me) who was pointing white faced into my garage at what looked like a reproduction of a Yellowstone geyser. Water was pouring into my garage at an alarming rate. An unending stream of water was flowing onto the floor and spraying the cabinets lining the wall. My sister was incoherent, with her hair in a scary pile on her head. Most interesting was that In her hand she held a dust mop. All she was able to mumble was "Hot Water Heater". I did not come back with my usual "You don't heat hot water. It's just called a water heater", but rather did a double take of the fountain of water being pumped into my garage, then back at the tiny dust mop in my sis's trembling hand. My response was a wry "Ummmm I don't think that's gonna do it." Feeling quite smug about that, I slogged into my garage, wading through a couple inches of water to assess the situation. Somehow the overflow valve had become sheared off. You know the one that you are supposed to use in case your water heater needs to drain in the event of failure? (please intuit sarcasm here.) Well, the draining part was apparently a non-issue. The problem appeared to be the never ending font of water running from the valve into and into my garage. Like I said, I am not at the top of my game at 4 am. Also, I can't see without my contacts or my glasses - neither of which I had the wherewithal to put on before I bounded down the stairs. To make matters worse, the sound of running water was doing weird things to my newly awakened bladder. I staggered out of the garage, through the house and out the front door to try to locate the water shut off valve whose current location eluded me in my half sleep stupor. I stumbled to my garden hose and tried that handle to no avail. It was already off. I looked at some other turn on off thingie next to it with a handle and tried it. Nothing. Stuck in position. Realizing that was the gas main and probably wasn't really important at that particular moment I moved on. I then realized it was pouring rain, and I was soaking wet from the bottom up and now the top down. Plus I still had to pee. So I shrugged my shoulders, lumbered back into the house and into the bathroom. As it appeared I needed to both empty my protesting bladder and ponder upon the location of the main shut off valve, that seemed the wisest course of action. My leisurely mosey out of the restroom had me passing by my sister who was still holding tight to her dust mop. The location of the water main came into focus and I grabbed some type of coat thing from what I think may have been my closet, went back into what now seemed to be a full a reproduction of the biblical forty days and nights, and located the main. Some how I had the wherewithal to grab our emergency flashlight on my way out (way more helpful than a dust mop by the way). I wrestled the concrete top off of the box and stuck my hand into what I figured was probably be a nest full of slumbering black widow spiders, and managed to muscle the damn shut off valve to the off position. I waited there at the valve, trying to hear if the font of water had ceased. Impossible in pouring rain by the way. But I waited anyway. I'm not sure why. I think I knew a shower was probably going to be a no go today so I was trying to get clean the hard way. Eventually I got up and peeked into the garage window to receive a thumbs up from my smiling sister using her non-dust mop wielding hand. More to follow.... © 2013 Shelley Holt-LowreyAuthor's Note
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Added on January 15, 2013Last Updated on January 15, 2013 Tags: Irony, humor, short stories, Shelley holt, Shelley lowrey Author
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