It was a typical morning of me hitting the snooze button two times too many before dragging myself out of bed to get ready for an appointment. As usual, I trudge to the coffee maker and look forward to having a fantastic cup of coffee after a nice hot shower. We had been in the house for almost two weeks, and were settling into things pretty nicely. Go to shower and turn on the hot water. Let water run for a couple minutes. Test water…still cold. No big deal. The hot water heater is on the opposite side of the house from the bathrooms, and maybe it’s just taking longer than normal for the hot water to get here. I’ll just brush teeth while I wait. Check water…still cold. Hhhm. That’s odd. This is getting to be a bigger deal. I NEED a shower. It had been…a while. Too long. It is impossible for me to accurately convey how much I love a nice hot shower. I don’t care that it is the middle of summer in Texas and that my husband keeps the thermostat at 78. I need a shower, and I need it hot. However, I don’t really have time to keep waiting since I also have to be at my appointment. Jump in shower.
It’s bad. Not like I want to murder someone bad, but definitely
ruin-your-morning bad. Thank goodness the cold water is never really cold
during Texas summers. Pipes aren’t buried deep enough in the ground to really
stay cool, and then they run through the attic which is hotter than the 5th
ring of hell. Needless to say, it was a very quick shower. Very quick. At least
my hair is all soft and shiny from rinsing in cold(ish) water. Score!
Get out of shower and check clock. Well shit. I really need to be getting to my appointment, but obviously
the hot water heater is having issues. Since I made up some time in my
short shower, I pour myself a cup of coffee, get dressed, and open the door to
the water heater closet. Note, this closet is vented to the outdoors, and
outdoors in Texas are lots of creepy-crawlies the likes of which I’ve never seen
before. A BIG problem is the cockroaches. These suckers are as big as your
thumb, AND THEY FLY. THEY FLY! They also get everywhere. My biggest irrational
fear is bugs (followed closely by live fish). Damn there are lots of dead roaches in there. I avoid looking at
them and instead look quizzically at the water heater. How do you know if it is working? I’ll bang on it a couple times. That
always works! The dogs look at me like, “Good job Mom! Way to bang on that!
High-five for Mom!” Well, even if that did the trick, it will take forever to
heat that whole tank and be able to check for hot water. And then my mother’s
voice starts in my head.
A little background on my mother. She worries. About
everything. Check engine light comes on in the car? The car is definitely going
to blow up, and we’re all gonna’ die. Fuse blows in the house? The electrical
is faulty, the house is going to burn down, and we’re all gonna’ die. A
computer pop-up window screams at her about a virus? The computer will somehow
start billow smoke, and…you guessed it…we are definitely gonna’ die. Her life
is one of dodged bullets. This is the strongest woman I know, but yet she is
too scared to drive over bridges, go over 45 miles an hour, or even pump her
own gas. Yep. My father pumps her gas for her. She also worries out loud. I was
always aware of every possible danger, and that my ability to survive relied on
predicting as many unrealistic consequences as possible. On top of that, while
she worries about everything, her confidence in her trouble-shooting skills is
lacking…especially with stereotypical “guy stuff.” We grew up watching my mom tell
my dad to “check the oil” any time the car made a weird noise. So…my “training”
in handling “guy stuff” was to (1) get scared about at least 15 outcomes that
don’t actually have a chance in hell of actually coming true, (2) do something
that would in no way fix the situation, and then (3) call Dad (who would then
typically call a professional anyway).
I am not a stupid woman. I have my Ph.D. in chemistry. I
have handled dangerous chemicals and still have all my fingers and toes. I’ve
built my own hot-cell for working with radioactivity. I have been responsible
for educating students in the science. I’m also pretty independent. (I’m the
only person in my family to move away from my hometown.) I know how to pay my
own bills, have my car serviced, and do some limited DIY home maintenance (like
calling and paying someone else to do it). However, when things break down, and
I have no idea what to do, my mother’s training-in-anxiety takes over.
I’ll text Don! He’ll
know what to do! Penises come with built-in instructions for all things plumbing,
right? Plumbing = “guy stuff” right? Why won’t he answer? Send another
text. Google, “trouble-shoot water heater.” Why
are all these articles so long? Click on YouTube videos. I don’t have fecking 10 minutes! I have an
appointment! Ack! I’ll call my dad! He’ll know what to do! No answer. Look
at heater. Bang on it again. What if all
this banging is actually making it worse? Oh no, this thing is going to explode,
and I’ll be scalded and disfigured! Wait, the water inside is cold. Pat self
on back for being a little less of an idiot.
I’m safe. But wait! I’m not safe! What if there is something electrical
sparking and shit? Look for plug or something only to realize that my water
heater is gas. Oh God. There is a gas
leak, the house is going to blow up, and we’re all gonna’ die. Do I smell gas?
No. What if my nose is broken and I just can’t smell it. GAS MUST BE TURNED
OFF. See yellow hose. Yellow hose =
gas, right? Valve? Got it! Holy shit that is close to the dead cockroaches!
What if I accidentally touch one? Oh God…what if they’re not all dead? If I
don’t turn this gas off, we’re all gonna’ die and my ashes will be mixed with
the ashes of the dead cockroaches. UNACCEPTABLE! The gas must be turned off!
Twist it counter-clockwise…nope…doesn’t twist that way. Twist clockwise…until
the knob hits the decorative door trim.
What fuckery is this? What
kind of twat-waffle installs a water heater such that the gas physically cannot
be turned off??? Make mental note to curse previous DIY-wannabe owner
later. It’s ok, I can just pop the
paneling off. Look for screwdriver in the only box of tools we have
unpacked. No screwdriver. Just the bits. What
the hell? Why did we pack our bits separate from the screwdrivers? Whatever, I
have this dinky hammer and a bit, and I’ll just pop this paneling off. Bang,
bang, bang. Well that’s not working. Try
a different spot. Bang, bang, bang. Well
that’s not working either. WHY IS THIS NOT WORKING?!?!? New idea! I’ll just saw off that part of the
paneling! It’s just the inside of a water heater closet. No one will care. Except
the husband. He will definitely care. No
matter. I must turn off the gas to keep me and my fur-babies safe! Look for
a saw. Damn! How have we not unpacked all
our tools yet? What to do? What to do? Look at clock. Fuck me! I’m gonna be late! That’s when I spot the steak knife. Should I? No…I couldn’t…but I must! Saw,
saw, saw. It’s working! Thank goodness
they used cheap-ass trim! Now I’ll just pop this piece off…WHY WON’T IT POP
OFF? So late! Keep sawing. Try popping. What
the fuck? Is this shit stuck on the wall with Gorilla Glue? (Let’s face it,
ain’t NOTHING coming apart if you use that shit.) Tools, tools, tools. Find
needle nose pliers. Ok…so we unpacked the
box of tools including screwdriver bits, a dinky hammer, and needle nose
pliers. Genius! Make another mental note to be mad myself later for lack of
unpacking prowess. Shove pliers between wall and strip. Still. Won’t. Pop. Off.
I am so stinking late! Did that roach carcass
just move? That’s it! This shit has got to come off. I start twisting off
little pieces at a time. Now THIS is
working! Finally remove the chunk I need, and twist the gas all the way
off, saving my family from danger. I’m a fucking hero!
Epilogue: I got to my appointment…late, but I got
there. However, I continued to panic and text Don eleventy-million times. I was
convinced that the pilot light thing had to be sparking and was gonna’ burn
down the house. The husband was convinced that that was impossible.
Fast-forward to the husband leaving work to check on the dogs because that is soooooo
much easier than dealing with me. They were fine. All was fine. My dad finally
returned my voice-mail in which I had tried to play it cool, but he knew
better. He and Mom have been married since ’72. He knows the worry-vortex very
well. He laughed. Then he informed me that water heaters have an auto-shutoff
for the gas. Thanks, Dad.
Epilogue to the Epilogue: The husband does some
trouble-shooting, checks some websites, and cusses a lot (we’re a match made in
heaven). We finally head to bed all frustrated and defeated, and he suddenly
asks, “Is the gas even turned on? Like to the whole house?” I go to the stove
to check. No gas. Go back to bed to update the husband. His response:
“Remember when I asked you to set up the utilities? Did you
remember to include the gas?”
“Um…duh! I did exactly as you asked, and I called the number
for the City of Austin Utilities. The lady on the phone said that we were set
up for ALL our utilities.”
“Are you sure, ‘cuz I’m at the City of Austin Utilities
website and it says that they provide water, electricity, waste pick-up,
recycling pick-up, and wastewater management. I don’t see gas.”
“What kind of idiot do you think I am? They lady on the
phone said we were set up for ALL UTILITIES. That HAS to include gas! Did you
pay our bill?”
“Yep. Already checked that and it got auto-paid 2 days ago.
There are line items for water, electricity, and waste. No gas. Looks like
someone is calling The City of Austin Utilities tomorrow.”
First thing the next morning, I call the utility company
prepared to read them the riot act for turning off our gas. The poor woman on
the other end of the line was trying so hard to keep her composure. “Well yes,
ma’am. You are set up for ALL your utilities…(stifled chuckle) that the City of
Austin provides…(more stifled chuckle)…but we are not a gas company. You’ll
have to call Texas Gas Service.”
They can be out to the house to restore service in 4 days.
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