Water Torture

I have always loved the water.  I love swimming, I love living near water, water makes me happy.  I’m a Pisces, of course I love the water!  That’s why I find it so ironic that when things go wrong in my life more often than not they have something to do with water.

When I lived in Italy my house was flooded twice; once by an overzealous washing machine in my part of the house, and once by a very tired washing machine upstairs in the owner’s part of the house.  Both times were pretty comical – especially when Nona was smacking herself on the forehead repeatedly and muttering Madre de Dios over and over.  She couldn’t understand why the blessed Virgin would let her house be flooded so completely while she was at church.  It was the ultimate insult that the disaster took place while Nona was at church, like the very act of attendance gave her a pass for the day on any misfortune that might think about coming her way.

One day a couple of years ago we were walking around in the back 40 around the pump house and discovered a swampland.  Since we live in the middle of the desert it was a little unexpected!  Since it was all of about 45 degrees outside it was also a little frustrating.  It took days of digging the gloppy muck out to find the leak in the pipe coming out of the wellhead.

That same winter we battled a frozen water tank for our well.  It was so ass-cold outside that the pressure tank froze clear through (this is a several hundred gallon tank!).   The ass-coldness of the weather of course made it an optimum time for plumbing work outside so it was a complete joy to tinker with that one, especially after the plumber supposedly “fixed” it and we were once again without water in the middle of the night when it was a balmy 20 degrees outside.  On date night.  Did I mention that the pump house is in the back 40?

Imagine that you just paid a plumber $700+ that very day to bring you a spanking new and hopefully unfrozen tank.  Imagine that you’re feeling all romantical.  It’s snowing outside, you have a nice toasty fire, some candles, soft music.  The boy is at grandma’s for the night.  You go to the kitchen for some water (don’t ask me why we needed water, just go with it) and lo, nothing.  Not a drop.  Bupkiss.   You say something along the lines of horsehumpingthundercunts!  because you know that this evening is not going to end the way you thought.  Your candles turn into flashlights, the warmth you get is from the boots and winter coats you have to put on to go slogging though the snow in the middle of the night in the ass-cold to jiggle the goddamn handle.

Most recently my water troubles have come from the water heater.  My spanking new (ok, 3 years old but in water heater years that’s like newborn) on-demand tankless water heater.  I hate this thing with the passion of a thousand suns for several reasons.  One, the default temperature is 108 degrees.  I ask you, who in their right mind thinks 108 degrees is hot enough for anything?  It has a controller that can be jacked up to 120 degrees, which is barely acceptable.  That’s all well and good, I can turn it up to 120 degrees, but every time the power goes out it goes right back to 108 degrees.   The POS water heater is in the attic, because we have the world’s smallest house and it saves space.  Brilliant!  Now whenever I need to crank the MFWH (motherfucking water heater) I have to go up the goddamn ladder, crawl halfway across the house, and do the thing with the thingie.

Lately the MFWH has decided it’s not a morning water heater and has been crapping out just at the right time for me to take a shower.  I never know if it’s going to crap out, though, because it doesn’t do it every day.  I get myself all psyched for a hot shower and wait….and wait…and wait….  Muttering ensues.  Stomping too, there’s usually stomping.  Then it’s half-nekkid-up-the-ladder time.  By this time there’s usually a lot of cussing.

The guy has been here 5 times.  He keeps saying “they never do this – they’re SO reliable!”  I tell him about the half nekkid ladder time and he fiddles with things and says ok, let’s try this.  This never works and by now he’s dreading my phone calls because half nekkid ladder time makes me a little cranky on the inside.   This last time he decided it was the gas line and I should call them.  So I did.  They came out and checked things and jiggled things – and then they red-tagged my house.  No phone call, no warning, just a red tag saying there was danger Will Robinson and they shut off my gas.   SHUT IT OFF!  Who does that?

I muttered and stewed and I may have called someone a horsehumpingthundercunt and I finally got someone to call me back.  He said to turn the handle and try the line.  I said “but there’s the red tag, and the wires (they locked the tank) and the DANGER!”  He said they just did that because no one was home to light pilot lights and they didn’t want gas just flowing into the house.  I can appreciate that.  No one wants that.  So like the rebels we are we cut off the wires and turned on the gas and LO!  We have hot water!  And it is good.

We’ll see if it can last.  I’m not holding my breath – I’ve been burned before!  At least I got the guy to move the controller into the pantry so I can do my half nekkid stomping across the house instead of up the ladder because hommie don’t like no ladders!