Water in the Hole

            I walked into my cozy little one-bedroom apartment in downtown Seattle, and surveyed the place. I had lived there for one year, but on that day I paid extra attention to the interiors. Just that morning, after much deliberation, I had extended my lease for another year.

            It had been a good year, and I had no complaints about the place. The location was great, close to restaurants, bars, movie theaters, the famous Pike Place market and the regular hustle and bustle of a downtown metro. The amenities were all that I needed, the staff was friendly, and I had friends living close by. So, why then, would I even consider moving after only a year?

            It was brought to my attention that the apartment across the corridor was becoming vacant. It was the same size as mine, and it had a beautiful, panoramic water view of the Puget Sound bay. It was in the same building, so all the benefits of the location were still there. Also, it was such a coincidence that both the leases ended on the exact same month. Was that a sign, perhaps?

            But there was more to it than the water view. My apartment had a better layout, larger living room and balcony, while the other one had an extra walk-in closet. (What on earth would I put in there?) My appliances were better, but that carpet was better. That parking spot was closer to the garage exit than mine, but it required parallel parking.

            The pros and cons went on, but to cut to the chase, I decided to stay back because the owner of the water-view-place increased the rent by hundred dollars. That, combined with my inertia of moving again, made me stay put.

            So, on that Thursday evening, I entered my apartment and looked around. The living room appeared more spacious than normal. The kitchen appliances appeared more shiny than normal. The bathroom seemed to be functioning better than normal.

Yes, I had made the right decision. This was definitely the place for me.

            So, I snapped out of it, changed clothes and headed out for dinner with a friend.  It was about eleven thirty when I reached back home.

            I opened the door and gasped at the sight before me.

            Water, water and more water. It was spraying all over the place. It was as though someone had installed a water fountain in the wrong place.

            The spray originated from somewhere close to the kitchen. The part of the carpet outside the kitchen was completely soaked. And the water kept coming relentlessly, showing no sign of slowing down. It was intent on creating a flood (or swimming pool, depending on your perspective).

My first thought was 'WTF is going on here', but in retrospect it seems quite comical. I stood there, feeling the water sprinkling all over me, my clothes getting drenched.

A few moments passed, and I was still standing there, dumbstruck. Alright man, pull yourself together. Let’s do something about this.

Accepting the fact that I was already wet anyway, I plunged in to hunt for the source of my new in-home water fountain. It turned out to be a pipe leading up to the water heater, which was next to the washer-and-dryer. I clasped my hand over the offending pipe and prevented it from spitting out water.

Ok, you found the leak, what now? You can't stand here all night with your hand on the pipe, can you?

So, I released my hand and looked around the place for anything that could be useful. My eyes locked in on a roll of scotch tape that lay on the kitchen counter. This was thick tape, the kind I had used to seal up moving boxes when I shifted apartments.

I taped up the leak, and double-taped it, and triple-taped it. Satisfied that the water was slowed to a trickle, I put a make-shift bucket (which was basically a garbage can) under it, to gather the dripping water. 

I dried myself, and emailed the landlord about the situation. It was already passed midnight and I had work the next day, so I went to sleep.

I hardly slipped into my bed, when someone knocked on the door. I opened it to find the building concierge standing there.

“I heard there was a water leak here.” He said in a matter-of-fact manner.

“Umm...how did you know?” I asked, “Did the water reach the apartment below? Has my water leak already made the weekly building newsletter?”

He shot me a don't-be-a-moron look, “Your landlord called me.”

The first thing he did was to turn the water supply off (a tap located at some dark corner of the apartment that I didn't know existed).  Next, he brought in a fancy carpet cleaner machine and proceeded to expunge the large amount of water that had flooded the carpet. I sat around in my night clothes, watching him do his thing. It occurred to me that I should offer him something.

“Do you want something to drink?” I asked “Water?”

He grinned, “Water?  You’re offering me water?”

“Yea, water,” I said sheepishly, realizing the irony of the situation.

He shook his head. “By the way, I turned your supply off, so you'll get no water in the taps.”

I frowned, tested his hypothesis, and found it to be correct. There was in fact no water in the taps. “What about tomorrow? Will I get water to take a bath?”

“That's up to your landlord to fix this thing first. Only when you replace the water pipes can we turn the water back on.”

I considered asking about my scotch-tape solution, but decided against it. He had already removed my measly tapes and discarded them.

The next day I emailed my office colleagues about a body odor alert and I went in to work sans-shower. Meanwhile, the landlord sent someone to replace the pipes, and clean up the mess. On Friday evening, I reached home and saw that everything was back to normal, so I proceeded to take a nice, long shower.

A strange thought struck me. It was as though the universe was playing a prank, saying that, “Oh, you wanted to move to an apartment with a water view, did you? Here's some water in your current apartment…Enjoy…”