A blog about life experience and inexperience, by Dallea Caldwell
No matter how precisely adjusted your sleep number, there’s a horrifying truth that nevertheless keeps you up night. It’s a reality that pierces the insulation of your climate controlled life and wraps you in a cold sweat.
You get little reminders – warning shots – as if from a hostage taker or blackmailer who isn’t taken seriously enough. They come in subtle ways: a blown light bulb here, a roof leak there, or a flooded basement. These remind us that our luxurious amenities are a precarious buffer between us and utter savagery. And no amenity is a more important a buffer than the simple luxury of nice, hot, running water. Today is my 4th day without it.
The astonishing complexity of my home plumbing problem is an unforeseen consequence of my affinity for over-indulgence. I was initially very impressed to learn that my tankless electric water heater is designed to support showers of infinite length, heating water as needed rather than in a singular tank that must be filled and refilled. But, when you own the Lexus of water heaters, you eventually discover the flip side of years of high-end convenience: finding someone with the know-how to diagnose problems, get parts, and repair such a novel machine is a huge challenge.
This means that you can suddenly go from someone who routinely and thoughtlessly indulges in the longest and most luxurious baths and showers known to man, to someone who approaches bathing with dread, foreboding, and copious amounts of strategic planning.
Here’s a rough outline of my nightmare so far.
Denial: I sleepily rolled from my bed one morning, stumbled to the shower, and turned it on as usual. Then I filled my face with the tooth cleaning power of my Sonicare electric toothbrush, the mind-numbing hum of its micro-vibrations bristling away plaque for the automatically alotted 2 minutes.
I check the water: running cold. I smother my adult acne in deep pore cleanser and wallow in the icy-cool sensation that tricks you into believing its working. I check the water: still running cold. I shrug it off and settle for a “possibly wash”. “Possibly wash” is what my mother calls washing parts of your body that possibly stink. I did that.
“I must have turned it off,” my roommate said after I mentioned it, awakening me to the fact that there’s an off option on the water heater.
Fear: But when I get home that night, the problem has only gotten worse. The hot water faucet isn’t just running cold, it’s barely running. I immediately access both my social itinerary and the predicament of my hair, my skin, the peach fuzz accumulating on my limbs. This is a problem.
Anger: Why am I consistently the first one to notice that it still isn’t working? Do you bathe?
“I don’t know. I flicked it off and on again. It should be fine.”
Well, it’s not. And, I should be exfoliating right now. I mean, I’m scalier and hairier than Ariel if she were half Chewbacca.
“Okay, okay, I’ll call the guy tomorrow.”
Oh, you better!
Acceptance: The next morning, craving if only a taste of the sweet warmth I once took for granted, I warmed 2 popcorn bowls full of water. Into one, I dunked my soapy loofa and squeezed soothing – if intermittent – streams of water down my back. Once overcome by the self-assurance that comes with perceived cleanliness, I poured both bowls of water. It was the most efficient indulgence that I’ve ever experienced.
The same day, the original installer came to inspect the broken water heater. It’s missing some piece or other. It should be delivered later today. In the meantime, the ritual of warming water has reminded me just how many privileges I take for granted, and how easily things taken for granted can be taken away.
Did you go a long time without electricity, running water, or some other luxury that’s come to be essential to your life? How did you survive?
