Our can can't, or, please fix our super bowl

You never know what you have until it’s gone.

That is a truism that has been proven again and again as, well … true.

For instance, I have gotten used to using the toilet on a “regular” basis.

I also enjoy having a hot beverage like coffee or tea on my desk as I work.

Neither of these things are possible without having one very important element around.

Okay, two elements combined.

Freakin’ sticklers …

Anyway, water is the topic of today’s verbal torrent.

The reason for all the lamentation is that the Sun offices were, until recently, without the wet stuff.

This lack of water started with a phone call from the town informing us that the new water meter reporting system indicated that we had a major leak.

The staff here had noticed that the sump pump under the building had been running sporadically, but we had just written that off as melting snow getting under the building.

WRONG!

During a cold (!) snap about a month earlier, our main feed line under the sidewalk out front decided to take a vacation from the water transportation business altogether.

Eleven-thousand gallons of water later, we get the leak notification call.

Even later, we get an exasperated call from our owner who is holding a huge water bill (I think the bill was the same size, just more numbers on it—If you want to imagine a red-faced owner holding a comically large bill though, now’s the time) and telling us to have the water shut off NOW!

The call is made to have our water shut off.

Another call is made to local plumber, Randy Lane, while the staff here begins moving desks off of the floor doorway to the Sun’s basement/creepy dungeon.

When the plumber gets here, he immediately is drawn to a suspiciously solid concrete wall with a pipe sticking out of it. He then goes on to state that the leak is (SURPRISE!) on the other side of the aforementioned barrier.

I start to see dollar signs piling up. Fortunately, they are not coming from my wallet this time.

It may not sound like it, but I do sympathize. This kind of thing has happened directly to me.

If you own a house or, in this case building, you can commiserate too.

Anyway, our aquatic conveyance consultant says it will take a few days to fix and that he will have to drill through the concrete wall and most likely also have to bust up our sidewalk in order to fix the puzzling plumbing predicament.

Fine, no problem. We’re tough. We can deal with it.

The next day, I get to work and realize there is no water to make coffee with.

Okay, I decide. I’ll just walk to the convenience store and get some. So, I bundle up and off I go.

Later, when the coffee has “run its course”, I bundle up again and run across the street to the local hardware store.

Inconvenient? Sure. Still no big deal though.

A few days later, the cold (!) returns. I am talking mustache-freezing, minus-29-degrees-with-a-breeze cold.

Now every time a restroom break is required, it is a chore. Put a coat on, trudge across (or down) the street, listen to the “water’s not fixed yet?”, “leave a quarter” or other equally witty remarks from folks who are kind enough not to care, but are going to take the opportunity to poke some fun nonetheless.

I am REALLY surprised no one said “Don’t you put all your crap in the paper anyway?”

Too bad. You missed your chance.

Finally, after having Randy drill through concrete in our dank under-office and the James Gang (local contractors and hippie-looking good guys) busting up our sidewalk with heavy equipment, we have our water restored.

This led to some unusual statements in the Sun’s office.

Utterances like “I’ve already been to the bathroom!” and “That sure was nice.” were commonplace around the office the first day of renewed water service.

Which brings me back to the start of this diatribe—and inspired me to write following piece of ... verse.

An ode to modern plumbing

Running through copper and white PVC,

Turn on your faucet and there it will be.

Water now runs hot and cold in our places,

To wash off our bodies and clean all our faces.

In haste to make waste and send it away,

I have failed once again to give thanks today.

For the throne in the loo and it’s mighty flush,

Sending poo down the tubes in an watery rush.

Fling scat like a monkey—no, that’s not for me.

I’d much rather have a private spot for my pee.

A seat upon it—nice, soft and cushy,

Helps me unload as I sit on my tushy.

Slip joints and solder, a stool for some stool,

The can is not a place where you can look cool.

Dung, turds and caca—flow mostly one way,

When somehow it doesn’t—that’s just not okay.

For water to work, we must thank the plumber,

Their work never done—fall, winter and summer.

Working in mud, and through all kinds of ills,

You’ll be happy as heck—’till you get all his bills.