Pipe Dreams
For many people, buying a home is a dream-come-true.
However, little does the ‘virgin’ homeowner know that when a window breaks, a
tree falls or a water pipe leaks, that dream can turn into a never-ending
nightmare.
Please join me on my roller-coaster home-repair
adventure.
The warm breeze billows my pink cotton sundress.
Stopping to close my eyes, I lift my
head toward the sun drinking in the natural vitamins. I don’t mind getting a
few more freckles on my face. (They are not age spots.) I hear dragonflies zoom
around the yard while bird songs fill the air. Under the Live Oak tree, the hound dog
whimpers as he dreams about running.
I noticed the hanging ferns are wilted and
begging for a cold drink. I stroll around the corner of the house, to grab the
hose. Why is the ground soggy wet?
I check for errant drips. Nope. With a feeling
of doom, I grab a small spade and begin to dig down into the muddy mess.
Scoop-slop-dump, scoop-slop-dump.
I unearth a small white pipe squirting water.
Crap!
Fortunately as a single woman and a homeowner, I
know how to turn off the water main. Simply open the black box and pull the red
lever up.
I scoot out the front gate, squatting down next
the road leaning over the open drainage-ditch I peer into the dark crevices of
the black box. I quickly look for spiders and snakes.
Clear!
I see the red lever however; I need to kneel
down on the skirt of my sundress to avoid the fire ants. With my hinnie up in
the air and my head down I lean forward stretching my arm out so that the tip
of my longest finger will just touch the edge of the red lever.
Lift-tap-push. Now just a tad more.
The red handle plops off and into the dirt.
Not good!
I can hear water running through the meter as
the arrow on the dial wildly spins.
Where is help when I need it?
Struggling to my feet, I slap the flesh-eating ants
off my legs and run into the house for tools.
Tramping back outside I place my knees on soiled
sundress skirt, with my rear-end-up I use pliers to extend my reach. I pick up
the thin metal handle from the dirt. The red lever is misshapen, bent and
worthless.
Slowly, painfully I stand and hobble into the
house.
I’m too old for this!
I call the water company and explain the
situation to the woman. In her southern-polite manner, she explains. “We do not
repair water meter handles. Turn-off-levers are placed on a meter, one time
only. You can purchase a turn-off-tool from Paradise Hardware in
“Excuse
me? I can’t get this…turn-off-tool, from our local Lowes or Home Depot?”
“Well. You could always call them but as far as I
know, only that
After releasing frustration with a string of my
favorite words, I decide that I am not going to drive forty-five minutes to
some bow-dunk hardware store in
I am woman hear me roar. This will not be a
problem!
Placing several pitchers of water in the
refrigerator, I continue to fill up the dog’s water bowl placing it on the
floor. I go potty, flush and wash my
hands. (I am hygienic.)
Okay, I’m now ready, willing and able to tackle
this problem.
Stomping outside with a towel, lawn chair,
hammer, pliers, wrench, and flashlight, I throw the chair in the dirt by the
meter. I pad the chair with a fluffy towel. Again, down on my knees this time
cushioned with the towel and my grubby sundress. With my huge butt up in the
air, I secure the wrench to the rusty outcrop of metal that once had a red
handle attached to it.
Picking up the hammer, I proceed to beat the
holy hell out of the wrench, the meter or anything else, until the spinning
arrow and flowing water reverberation stops.
My job is done!
I push myself up off the ground with a grunt,
dabbing at my bloody knees with my filthy dress. Snatching the miscellaneous tools, I march into
the house to tend to my ant bites.
In this nightmare, at least the water is off.
