A while back I told you I had a problem with my refrigerator.
Here is a photo of Frigidaire:
If you look to the left of Frigidaire, you can see he's the kind of refrigerator who dispenses water and ice.
He is also a depository for magnets and some postcards, such as Leda and the Swan, which The Hurricane mailed to me from Italy when she was in high school. I think she'd been home for two or three weeks before the postcard arrived. She sent this particular card because I read Yeats' poem to her.
|Leda is covered with a magnet because she is bare ass nekkid.|
Frigidaire also boasts the postcard from the donkey sanctuary The Hurricane visited on her eighteenth birthday. To the right of the donkeys are two of my favorite girls in the whole world. They are Middle Child's two oldest children.
So you can see Frigidaire keeps quite busy giving me ice and water and holding cards and photos. Oh! and Frigidaire is covered with tiny words on magnets. Anyone who visits my house is allowed to rearrange the magnets, even if what the person creates with the words is considered naughty by some other people who are prudes.
The problem with Frigidaire began one weekend when I thought I heard water running in the kitchen. I looked around. No leak under the kitchen sink. No water to be found. I told Willy Dunne Wooters that I heard water running. He said, I don't hear anything. (Well, what in the hell did you expect him to say? He's as deaf as a post.)
On Monday I spent more time wandering around the kitchen. The noise was coming from the refrigerator. I looked in the freezer. Nothing. No puddle coming from under the refrigerator.
By about 7 p.m. that Monday, the noise was really getting on my nerves. What was going on?
I decided the sound came from behind the refrigerator, so I decided to pull out the refrigerator in case I could spot a problem. Before I pulled, though, I looked at the water pipe that's behind and slightly to the left of the refrigerator. I'm sorry it's kind of hard to see in this photo, but there wasn't anything to see at the time because no water was coming from the pipe:
So putting my puny muscles and bad back to work, I pulled on the refrigerator. I pulled Frigidaire more and more. I could feel that he was going over some small bump as I pulled. Suddenly he jumped over the bump, and water began to squirt out of the plastic tube that carried the water from the pipe to the refrigerator so I can have my water and ice. The bump had been that tube. I realize it's difficult to see the water coming out of the shower head, but it was a lot like this:
Water wasn't pouring out. It was spurting out, streaming out, gushing out, spewing out, shooting out. I hope that gives you a general idea of how much water was coming out of the tube, and how it was erupting.
It seemed that Frigidaire had been sitting on his own tube for a long time. He had finally worn a hole in the tube. When I moved Frigidaire off the opening, the kitchen became very, very wet in a very, very short time. Eek! I squealed.
I ran to grab a stack of old towels, which I scattered in the deepening pool, and I tried to turn off the tap.
Of course, it wouldn't budge.
So I stood on top of the hole in the pipe, like the little boy who kept the damn dam from bursting by putting his finger in the hole. I texted Favorite Young Man. No response. I emailed Willy Dunne Wooters. No response. (We'll talk about that lack of response more on another day.)
I couldn't just stand there forever. I ran to my closet as quickly as one runs in sopping slippers, and grabbed my sandals. I ran next door and knocked. Then I knocked again. Sweet Young Allison opened the door.
Eek! I said. Water! Eek! Is Anthony home? (She doesn't know that I call him Hot Young Anthony.)
Sweet Young Allison said that (Hot Young) Anthony was on his way home and asked if she should send him over when he arrived.
Eek! I squeaked. Please!
I ran home and went back to standing on the hole in the tube. I called Tony the plumber man and left a message for him. I accidentally touched the back of the refrigerator and felt a snizzle. I am standing in a pool of water with an electrical appliance, I thought. This is not good, I thought, though my brain felt quite foggy from the emergency.
I unplugged Frigidaire.
Just then Hot Young Anthony, my beloved savior, ran in the front door. I turned off the water to the house, he said. What happened? he asked.
I showed him.
Hmmmmmm, he said. Just then the phone rang. It was Tony the plumber. He already knew what was wrong although my message had mostly consisted of me squealing, Eek! Water! Hole in tube!
Tony said he was on another job and couldn't get to my house for at least 90 minutes.
He started to tell me what to do and what not to do. I said, Anthony is here. Please tell him.
And I turned the phone over to my deliverer. (Tony the plumber is also Hot Young Anthony's plumber. I found Tony because Anthony told me that Tony is the best plumber ever, and Anthony knew of what he spake.)
Anthony said, Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay.
He gave the phone back to me.
Hot Young Anthony said, Tony said to go to Lowe's and get a steel cable. He said it's easy to hook it up.
That's easy for you to say, I thought.
I must have looked more than my usual crazy because Hot Young Anthony started wiping up the water with the towels. Then he offered to go to Lowe's to buy the cable.
Yes, please, I said.
He returned a few minute later (Lowe's is very close). He took off the old plastic tube, and put on the new steel cable. He went outside and turned on the water to the house. Everything worked, and water no longer spurted.
I thanked Hot Young Anthony about a million times
He said that the good thing about what had happened was that now the kitchen floor was clean. I felt a tiny bit embarrassed about the amount of dog hair that had been behind and under the refrigerator, and then I got over it.
Everything was fine. I have the best neighbors ever and the best plumber ever. Tony called back very quickly after I left my Eek! message. Although it was a Friday evening, Tony was willing to come here to take care of the problem, and he was even more willing to save me a good bit of money by telling Anthony what to do. The cable cost $16.
I would have preferred to fix it myself, but I was in Eek! mode so I was very grateful to have a rescuer.
I have saved a life here and there and written newspaper articles on stuff that came up twenty minutes before deadline, but squirting water overwhelmed me.
And that is the story of the refrigerator that thought it was a shower, or maybe a washing machine.
Mr. Frigidaire has been on his best behavior since that night.
And so have I, because I don't want God to have a reason to punish me. Not that He would do that.
Infinities of love,