In Hot Water

(A Little Indulgence in Wishful Thinking).

In the wee hours of yesterday morning, as I somnambulated to the bathroom, padding across the hall carpet, I was rather bemused to not only hear what can best be described as a squelching sound but feel water bubbling up between my toes. Then I recalled that under normal conditions, a small creek doesn't run through my hallway. Still half asleep (or half awake), I decided to investigate its source, only to find myself wading in my kitchen. Ankle-deep in water and hip-deep in confusion (but now thoroughly awake at a bracing 7:00 on a Saturday morning), I was able to quickly trace the source of my new water table (aided by an incessant drip-dripping) to the hot water heater which is tucked away in a kitchen cabinet and was, in fact, inundating my home.

I am somewhat of an engineering dilettante; indeed, I cannot deny that my extensive knowledge of hot water heaters isn't limited to the fact that they should provide you with hot water only when you ask them to. Without appearing too boastful, I also know that water pouring out of an electrical device should be avoided at all costs.

Not being able to find an on/off switch on the heater, I turned off the electricity in my entire apartment. I sopped up my aquifer with towels and J-cloths, hung 2 sodden carpets out of the window to dry, and threw out 99% of my dry goods. Then I quickly washed my dinner dishes from last night (lest my concierge judge me as slatternly - yes, I am insane) and went in search of said concierge. Without a doubt, the last thing he wanted to deal with on a Saturday morning was anything more complicated than pounding a nail into the wall and I couldn't help but read the relief in his face that this repair was beyond his ken. He turned my electricity back on, unplugged my heater (which did nothing to alleviate the dripping, I might add) and assured me that a plumber would take care of it. Soon.

Four hours later, my plumber arrived. After a few moments of tweaking and jiggling (and turning off my hot water - why hadn't I thought of that?), he announced that he needed a copper-something and that he would have to call my landlord. At least, I think that's what he said because all I heard was "blah blah blah cuivre blah blah blah propriétaire ...."

He has yet to return. It is now, officially, 25 hours since I last saw him.

I have been waiting in my post alluvial apartment (an apartment, I might add, that is more or less bereft of food) very patiently, although I did become a little stir crazy sometime in the late afternoon. I believe that the temperature indoors yesterday exceeded 40 degrees celcius and that this may have contributed to a spike in my overall snarkiness (sorry Ms K). My concierge was (and still is) nowhere to be seen; my landlord did not (and has yet to) respond to my increasingly frantic messages. Finally, at 7:00 last night, I capitulated, succumbing to hunger and a need for fresh air, and beetled out to a hanoot to buy the makings for a nutritous meal that I like to call "potato chips & Coca Light".

I don't doubt that the plumber reappeared around 7:03.

In spite of a really crummy weekend, I am mindful of the fact that:

1) this could have happened while I was on vacation next week, making me somewhat responsible for the creation of a free-moving water system down Avenue Al Atlas; and,
2) cold showers are not that unpleasant in July and have given me free rein to have sweaty & naughty dreams of George Clooney Mr. Cat in Rabat; and,
3) I have the complete first season of Deadwood to watch as I await the imminent arrival of my plumber (bwahahahahahaha!!! - Cin R wipes away the tears of laughter); and lastly,
4) I am not in Beirut having foreign-financed bombs and rockets explode around my head (not so weak from laughter).

I wasn't going to post this blog until I had a natural ending to my water woes (hopefully fixed) but then I remembered that Truman Capote took the same approach with In Cold Blood, and the result was 2 executions. I am, admittedly, peeved but I don't want people to die over this. Maybe just suffer a little. Well, I have less than 5 days to nail down my concierge and/or the plumber and/or my landlord and get this minor glitch rectified before I leave for Canada. No problem, right? This is Morocco - how difficult can it be?