Florida Re-entry

Like the birds, Charley and I "migrate" twice a year. When the weather turns cold and raw in Massachusetts, we head to Florida. We do the reverse in May when the heat and humidity become suffocating in Florida.

After driving 1500 miles south this October, we unpacked the car,
raised the electric storm shutters, put sheets on our bed, and tumbled to sleep within minutes. Around 1 a.m. I got up to use the bathroom, rousing myself from dreams of lying on the beach, and shuffled with one open eye toward the nightlight. My other eye flew open when I heard a loud hissing noise. "Please, God, not a snake!" was my first thought. I turned on a light and not seeing anything coiled near my feet, headed toward the kitchen.

I didn't get to the kitchen. Squish, squish, squish. My feet hit water across the stone floor. From under the bar a fountain was spurting liquid sunshine down the hall. "Charley! Get up!" I yelled, folding to my knees. A split water hose made a direct hit and doused my face and hair in a second.

"Are you sick?" Charley said, stumbling out of the bedroom.

"Look!" I said, holding my thumb over the split in the hose. "Turn off the faucet under there! I'll get a bucket and towels." I handed him the hose so he could move his thumb into position.

  "The thing is rusted," he yelled, twisting his other arm into the back of the cabinet. "Get some WD40!" A new purple bruise spread across his forearm, as he wedged his football body inside the 2'x4' cabinet, while
water gushed past his thumb.

I ran to grab the WD40, towels, and a bucket, and headed back to my dripping husband who was sitting in water and looked like he'd peed in his pj's. Slowly, slowly, the metal knob began turning. Slowly, slowly, the water began to drip and then stopped. We heard  furniture scraping in the condo below us. "I hope this didn't seep into their apartment!" I said. That was when our phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Carey, this is the security guard. Mrs. Rickover in the apartment below you reported water coming through her light fixtures in the ceiling."

"Yes, we've had a hose split in the bar area, but we've turned off the water."

"I'll be right there."

The damage was minimal for both of us, thankfully, but our neighbors called ServPro, to be sure. A plumber came for us the next day and the dripping from the Rickovers' light fixtures stopped without mildew. Their ceiling was intact and the light fixtures functioned. We both ran fans that week, called our insurance companies, and sent carpets out for cleaning. Good thing I'd had to make a pit stop (though I didn't make it back there for quite a while)!

But that was only the beginning...

During the course of the next week we discovered an ice block in the refrigerator ice maker; the internet nonfunctional; the cable out of commission for two televisions; the printer full of a blob of black ink (needed a new printer); sugar ants in the kitchen; and to top it off...I developed an eye infection!

The following week a cavity turned into a root canal.

At least we had sunshine and temperatures in the eighties!

Beam Him Up!

This is a true story...    

     Stan climbed out of his Fast Relief van in front of the nail salon and pulled up the bluejeans that rested below his hips. He scratched himself behind the driver's door, in case the owner was peeking out the window, and slammed it shut.  He turned his baseball cap backward over his blond ponytail, which was held together with an elastic and disappeared into his shirt collar. At the back of the van he retrieved his tool box and threw his wad of gum over the chain link fence.
     Stan jabbed the pass code buttons he'd been told to use on the salon door without success. "Anybody here?" he shouted.
     "Who is it?" Cheryl yelled back.
     "You need a plumber?" A few seconds later the front door of Cheryl's salon opened. "You got a problem here?" Stan asked.
     "I'll need your ID first, Cy - that's your name, right? It's on your shirt," Cheryl said, holding her cell phone in one hand.
     "Actually, my name's Stan. Stan-the-Man, that's me. Forgot my shirt this morning so I borrowed Cy's. I got this here card from the company, though," Stan said, handing Cheryl the company's business card.
     "Well, Stan," Cheryl began, scanning the card, "The pipe between my two sinks is blocked. I have appointments coming in an hour."
     "Not a problem! Stan-the-Man's here! Where's the pipe at?"
     Cheryl led Stan-the-Man to the back room. "I'm going to unplug the washer and dryer while I'm fixin', so don't go trying to do your dirty laundry." Stan-the-Man chuckled at his own joke. "Besides, we can't be too careful with those top-loaders. Front-loaders way better."
     "Why's that?" Cheryl said.
     "Everyone knows top-loaders is where they keep the cameras."
     "Cameras? To take photos of the towels?"
     "No. It's the Army. They can see us. They take photos when we ain't lookin'. I prob'ly shouldn't be telling you this. It's Top Secret. But no electricity, no photos."
     Cheryl's mouth hung open. "You work for the government?" she managed to get out without snickering.
     "No, I'm just tryin' to stop 'em from watchin'. They use digital space where they can. Like in them LED bulbs overhead. Better change those. Can't be watched through the old incandescents."
     Stan-the-Man mumbled something that only the plumbing snake could hear, as it wound its way down into the pipe. "Now turn on the faucets to see if we got it," he instructed.

     Cheryl leaned over the exposed crack of Stan-the-Man, whose butt was no more appealing than his protruding nose. She turned both faucets on full blast. "Are we safe now?" she asked, not realizing she was playing Stan's game.
     "Well, you want to be truly safe, you put tinfoil on the windows," Stan-the-Man responded, rising up with furrowed brows. "That way the infra-red rays can't penetrate."
     "I'll be sure to do that. The water is draining perfectly! I think we're good to go."
     "I'm good to go, as you said, but you'd better not be going anyplace before you replace those bulbs. You got customers to think of. You got a supply of tinfoil here?"
     "Oh, I'll be sure to take care of that after my clients leave," Cheryl said, hovering over her checkbook. What do I owe FR Plumbing?"
     "Just looking out for your welfare! That'll be fifty."
     Cheryl raced to the front door after handing Stan-the-Man her check. She stood with the door open until he had replaced the tools in his box. "Be sure to remember what I told you," Stan said, handing her a receipt on his way out.
     "I sure will," she said, feeling fast relief for the second time that day. She closed and locked the door with one hand while her other hand dialed FR Plumbing.