It’s been a “Long and Winding Road” this last week, but we made it back. There are drought conditions in our state, except at our house. As you recall, The Wife and I had more water than we needed or even wanted. Of course, most of it was on the kitchen and laundry room floors plus leaking down from basement ceiling light fixtures, sheetrock, and air-condition ductwork.
After emergency calls to our local friendly plumber and carpet repair guys, we were searching franticly for the source of the flood. Our investigation finally led us up to the bonus room above the garage. That’s where the Icky Teenager resides. What we found there was beyond shocking.
Imagine an entire clothing department store with everything ripped off racks, pulled off shelves, and dumped out of drawers all onto the floor. You would be getting close to visualizing the condition of the Icky Teenager’s room. Carpeted floors weren’t even visible under all the mess. Neither was any water. That led us to investigate the bathroom, something I wish I could forget.
A science experiment gone horribly wrong would be the best way to explain the condition of the bathroom. Black fuzzy things in the shower looked as if they had pink eyes and were following my every move. Luckily for me, it only took a quick look to find no water amongst the piles of stuff on the bathroom floor.
The Wife and I made a hasty retreat, saying, “Hello, Goodbye” to the bedroom and closing the door behind us with the hope nothing would escape. On the way down the stairs, I mentioned we were going to have to have a talk with the Icky Teenager about keeping her room cleaner. She shook her head and replied, “I was worse at that age. Just ‘Let It Be.’”
Back in the laundry room I unplugged the washing machine still going chugga, chugga, chugga. The Wife turned off the still humming dishwasher, and we both grabbed every towel in the house. After throwing 40 towels on the floor trying to soak up a seemingly endless supply of water, she asked, “Don’t you have a wet/dry shop vacuum in the garage?” Yes, I did, and yes, sometimes I’m just not that smart.
After sucking up two gallons of water, a quick check of the basement showed the sheetrock ceiling was now streaked with water. I called our local friendly sheetrock repair guy, and he gave this advice, “Drill a hole every two feet wherever you see signs of water to let it escape. I’ll be over in five days after the ceiling has dried out. It will cost about $200 for the repairs.”
Removing the back of the washer showed the drain hose had, for some reason, disconnected from the pump. A quick Internet search showed major problems with our washer due to this problem. Being late in the afternoon and with two days of babysitting our two granddaughters starting the following morning, the washer would have to wait.
The next two days were filled with lots of hugs, kisses, hours playing in the sandbox, questions answered about the baby snake we had found, and The Wife and I debating about whether to repair or replace our 3-year-old washer.
Finally, after a tearful goodbye to the girls, I met The Wife at her place of work. She was having a meeting in her office with three other co-workers, all of whom had Ph.D.s in education. They were aware of our washer demise and after a lively discussion, about whether we should spend $1,300 for a new washer or try a repair, three out of four doctors in the room recommended a repair rather than a replacement.
I always follow doctor’s orders. Besides it’s not everyday a doctor takes you to lunch and you can save $1,300, so a repair it was to be.
After lunch I went to the giant hardware store with the orange roof, and the plumbing guy knew just what I needed to fix our washer. Seems he has the same washer with the same problem. That evening The Wife came home to the happy sound of our washer once again going chugga, chugga, chugga. It was on its fourth and last load of towels.
A week and 15 loads of laundry later, our washer is still working just fine. The plumber guy had given me a special two-inch hose clamp that closed by turning a screw. He called it a “worm” clamp.
Yes, Dear Reader, we were rescued by a two-inch worm. Cost of the repair was $1.39.
To The Wife who is always there, helping out in emergencies both big and small, and being so understanding about being without a washer for three days, please don’t ever forget “P.S. I Love You.” Without your love I would surely be a “Nowhere Man.” With your love, anyone can certainly say to me, “Baby, You’re A Rich Man.”
Who am I to disagree with The Beatles?
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
