Singing in the drain. That about describes my morning.

 

A comic once said “leave it for Mom. Mom’s will clean ANYTHING!”  Those are not good words.

 

This morning started out pretty much like any other.  I got up. I got dressed.  I got the baby dressed. Actually, both of the babies.  I left the house only 15 minutes late, which, for me, is on time.

 

I dropped the 7 yr old off at school. On time. No late bell.  Whoo hoo.

 

Drove to the office. 

 

There I was, sitting uncomfortably at my desk. See, the upstairs of our building isn’t exactly heated. Well, actually, it is, but the heat does not come into the office part of the building.  Oh, it goes into the banquet room across the hall for our customers who need a banquet, but for some reason, it does not come into the office part.  We have a portable kind of propane thingy that is ventless and heats up our part. But, since last waning winter, it ran out of gas, and none of us have had whatever it is that we need (i.e. energy, forethought, necessity, whatever) to go and GET the propane tank filled.

 

So anyway, I digressed again. I keep doing that!!

 

So there I was….

 

And, Junior, the adult person (I am talking 55 years old and really strange) whom the owner hired, (and who has a congenital cleft palette but is perfectly socially acceptable, okay not really) and whom I totally CANNOT understand ONE came up to the office and started telling me something REALLY important. word of what he says,

 

Stop. Firstly, I really cannot understand him.  He is a wonderful person, cleans like a maniac, works really well, is very accommodating to our every need, but I cannot help but laugh when he tries to talk.  Okay. I know that is not copasetic.     I don’t laugh in his face or anything, but I have to honestly say I do laugh.  It’s wrong. I know.

 

So, here he is, trying to tell me SOMETHING is wrong.  I finally got out of him that it involved the basement of the restaurant, and a LOT of water.

 

Shit.

 

So I am like “junior, can you show me where it is?”  He nods.  Downstairs we go.

 

Yesterday, I stopped at Fashion Bug.  See, the sixties are now back, and my decade is now in style.  If you are an aging hippy, stuck in the fashion sixties, you are now back in style. Totally.  And so, I bought two skirts.  They are SO in style that they don’t even have a freaking HEM in them, they are FRINGED.  I am now dressing the decade that is in style. This does NOT happen very often. Exactly twice in my lifetime.  The first was in the sixties.

 

So me, who NEVER gets dressed up, IS.  Long denim skirt.  Tie died beigey and brownish shirt with crinkles.  Birkenstock mahogany boots.  How f’ing cool am I?

 

We get to the basement.  The sump pump, which normally works really well considering that the restaurant is on the Ohio River and when it rains, and by that I mean RAINS (as in rainforest, monsoon type rains), that back up terribly and overload things to the point that my area has been on CNN twice in the last FIVE years with flooding……

 

Are you getting this?  Yeah. The basement is like totally flooded.  And me, being the ONLY boss who is there, who is going to BE there before 11 am, I am the one on the hook.

 

When I come back in the next life, I want to be a size FIVE blonde with REALLY big hooters.  K ?

 

But, in this life, I am a slightly over fifty, hair of varicolored, saggy, stretch marked, saggy, lined, crow footed old bag of varying disposition.

 

Again. Shit.

 

So, over I go to the sump pump.  There is like, a fountain of water shooting out of the top of the thing.  It is, of course, submersed.  Sump pumps are like that.

 

And me?  I slide a plastic thingy that 24 cans of pop come in, I don’t know WHAT they are called and don’t really care…..I slide it over so I can put my $255.00 Birkenstock boots on it and NOT get wet.

 

Over the plastic thingy I stroll.  I bend down.  I reach down, into the hole of mucky water and grab (after pulling up my sleeve) the sump pump.

 

Do I have the forethought to UNPLUG it? 

 

No. I do NOT.  (Familiar readers will remember my inability to grasp the concept of electricity and the impact on the things around it that I have…..)

 

So, the sump pump, which has COME APART due to the fact that the HOSE CRIMPED and therefore OVERLOADED the stupid thing…

 

Immediately begins shooting HUGE AMOUNTS of water at me.

 

AT ME!

 

And, sadly, all over me.

 

Junior, God love him, starts making sounds that are probably meaning….OH MY GOD THERE IS WATER SHOOTING ALL  He is, however, jumping about rather a bit much. OVER YOU, but that sadly, I do not understand.

 

He isn’t very big.  About 5’ 5” or so.  Skinny as a rail.

 

It’s dark.  And wet. 

 

Finally, I manage to say, after being hit SQUARE in the face with a shooting stream of water reminiscent of a fire hose used by police to effect crowd control in the 60’s..

 

JUNIOR, can you UNPLUG it please???

 

And, he did.

 

Surveying the problem, I decide that the two pieces of PVC pipe have come apart due to the kink in the discharge hose.

 

I decide that we need some PVC glue, a largish spring to put over the discharge hose to keep it from kinking again and that should solve the problem

 

I certainly hope so, because the basement now has about 1 foot of standing water and if I don’t figure out how to get rid of it, its going to be a BIG problem because it is still raining and the forecast calls for another three days.

 

Off to the hardware store I go.  Buy the items I need. 

 

How sad is it that I knew what to do. Why couldn’t I just throw my hands in the air and call a freaking plumber?

 

No.  Off I go.  I buy the stuff.  I come back, dry off the pieces, remove the hose clamp that connects the discharge hose to the sump pump, slide the spring on, put the hose clamp back on, glue everything together, light the glue with a lighter (and old trick my Grandpa taught me), stick the two parts together, and presto, its fixed.

 

I come up from the basement.  Look at the clock. WHEEEE. It’s now 9:15 A.M.

 

Why didn’t I just stay in bed?????

 

If I could, I think I would get drunk. The bad part?  Well, if I was anyone else, I would have called a someone to fix it.  And my best friends/employers would have gladly paid someone about $200 to fix it.

 

Me?  Now, I am SALARIED.  And REALLY STUPID.

 

Such is life.

 

Have a good Wednesday. I won’t say have a good Tuesday, cause well, after THAT morning, I don’t even want to remember that it is Tuesday.