It's always something

Pretty much sums up how I felt on the 27th. Just wanted to punch that damn day in the face. Photo by Johnson Wang on Unsplash

“Hey mom, we have a flood in the laundry room.”

It’s Mr. Rugby. It’s Friday morning, the day Rob and I leave for London. I’m still packing, my incredibly fit husband feels we should squeeze in a workout before we leave for Miami (which is where our flight will leave from that night), and now I’ve got to call the plumber for our condo in Virginia. Virginia, from where Mr. Rugby and Mr. Lucky will depart the next day.

Please God, let the plumber be quick. And financially painless. The trip is already costing us a bundle.

The plumber arrives and no, it will not be financially painless. He calls after assessing the situation and informs me it’s the hot water heater that’s leaking and shares the options with me: a patch on the current hot water heater (no warranty, no idea how long it will last), a new water heater with a 6-year warranty, or a new one with a 12-year warranty. I go with the new one with the 12 year deal. Hell, I have no idea how long we’re going to keep that condo but, honestly, it could be more than 12 years. I suck it up and pay the piper.

Yes, I’m still finishing packing and yes, we’re on our way to the gym for that quick workout.

Then the guy comes to install the new water heater. As he’s removing the old one, he notices burned, peeling paint all over the top of it. He does some more investigating and makes quite the discovery. The flue is exhausting carbon monoxide into the condo and probably has been for some time. Shit. My kids’ lungs might be in the same shape my liver’s in.

He shares this with me, enroute to the gym, and I call my homeowners association. They promptly instruct me to call my gas company, so I do. The gas company quickly “sends a guy,” a guy who calls me as he’s driving to the condo and asks for an assessment of the situation. As it’s leg day and we’ve just started squats, I stop and call the plumber and ask him to speak with the gas guy directly, then I call the gas guy and give him the plumber’s name and number.

I’ve moved on to calf raises when the gas guy, whose name is Tanner, calls me and says, “Your flue feeds the units above and below your unit. The carbon monoxide is coming into all three. You need a chimney company to come and clean it out. Until they do that, I have to shut off the gas to all the units.” And what does that mean, I ask him.

“No heat. For anyone,” he says.

Five days before Christmas. No heat. None for my neighbors or my place and my kids are headed out of town the next day so they won’t be there to let anyone in. I leave my incredibly fit, amazingly patient husband in the gym and head to the car where I can search for a chimney company who can save my butt. Today.

Did you know that chimney companies are shockingly busy endeavors? They are! But, I get lucky. The two I call are booked through…. January 21st. But they feel bad for me, for my neighbors. So Peggy at Advanced Chimney Service says, look, I’m going to call my boss. He’s on a job and he’s booked all day but I really think he’ll want to help you. She tells me she’ll call me back, so I call the second company, I mean, I have to lock in help and I have to do it fast. Jason of the second company also wants to help and will do his best to squeeze me in today, and tells me he’ll call me back. I plan to go with whoever calls first.

I call Tanner the Gas Guy and give him this news. As I’m talking with him, he’s informing my downstairs neighbors of the situation which is good but it’s bad because I had no idea one of them is sick and now they have no heat. Oh God, the guilt.

Then he attempts to inform my upstairs neighbors. Mr. Rugby joins him. They ring the bell. They knock on the door. They pound on the door. No one is home. No. One. Is. Home.

This is not good.

Rob, who has completed his workout in its entirety and is now even more spectacularly fit than I can ever hope to be, joins me in the car and we’re on our way home and…. I have not heard from either chimney company. And of course Tanner would like to know how we’re going to get into the upstairs unit as, until all are checked by said chimney company, nobody’s getting heat.

I call my homeowners association again and ask if they can get into the upstairs unit. God bless America, the woman at the HOA office has a key. She just needs to speak with the owner of the unit to get her OK. She’d also like to know what time the chimney company is coming so she can come open the unit for them.

I tell her I’ll call her back. She says she’ll call me as soon as she connects with the owner of the upstairs unit. I call Tanner the Gas Guy and Mr. Rugby to give them this news and discover that, while I’ve been working the phone, they have discovered they share an ex-stepfather. Can this day get any worse?

I ring both chimney companies and leave messages. I hop in the shower and get dressed. I finish packing. The Uber is due in 8 minutes. Peggy calls. Her boss is fitting me in but can’t give me an ETA. This is good but it’s bad because the woman at the HOA is done for the day at 5pm.

I call the HOA lady and she says she’s got the OK and she’ll call me at 4:30 if she hasn’t heard from me.

We get into the Uber (for those thinking who the hell takes an Uber from Naples to Miami, it’s cheaper than long term parking. I’ll be returning to Virginia from London but Rob has to go on to Ireland and then Dubai) so, cheaper. Even with the return Uber trip.

The Uber is big and clean and lovely. Rob is relaxing. I am ON FIRE.

I call Jason at the other chimney company to tell him, since I haven’t heard from him but I did hear from the other folks, that I don’t need him to come to the condo. Ten minutes later, he calls to say “but, but, we’re on our way!” I’m like sorry. And thank you. But you didn’t call me back!

Have I mentioned that my heart and stomach are in my throat? They are.

We’re almost to the airport when my phone dings. It’s Mr. Lucky. “They’re here!” it says. I almost faint from relief. It’s 3:15 pm. I call the HOA lady. She says she’s on her way. I call Tanner the Gas Guy who shares an ex-step dad with Mr. Rugby (and Mr. Lucky) and give him the news. He says he’s on his way. I flop back against the seat and pray everything can be fixed. Today. And that the heat can come back on. Today.

Rob and I check our bags, get through security, and find our gate. Then we find someplace gnarly, airport-ish to eat. At 5:15 pm (I know, I’m terrible at details, but I watched the clock the whole time so I know I’m right about this), my phone dings again. Again, it’s Mr. Lucky. “It’s done!! The heat is on!!”

I nearly faint with relief.

At 5:16 pm I don’t care that the “restaurant” is questionable. I open the “wine list,” find a semi decent bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and order it. They bring it to us like we’re royalty which tells you how questionable the place really is, and I inhale a glass. It’s actually good. Or else at this point I’d have consumed rubbing alcohol. Who knows?

It’s over. Everyone has heat. No one is breathing in carbon monoxide. And my boys can leave unimpeded tomorrow. To this minute, I have no idea what the bill is, and I’m writing this on Christmas Day.

In case you’re wondering, there was a bird’s nest in the flue. Yeah. A bird’s nest. It’s always something. Why it’s always something, and always at the worst time, I have no idea. But it is.

Hope your pre-Christmas adventures were far more fun than mine!