I put the straw into my mouth, and sucked a mouthful of chocolate milkshake from the cup. It had been sitting long enough that the shake was finally easy to pull through the straw. I looked across from Chris across the booth, and smiled. My morning had started disastrously, but now I was feeling good again. I had something to look forward to.
It was my first of three days off, and when I woke in the morning to fix me a cup of coffee, I stepped into a quarter-inch thick puddle of ice cold water on the kitchen linoleum. The water was so cold that my heart skipped a beat or two, and I temporarily lost the ability to breathe. I stepped back onto the carpet, and peeled my soggy socks from my feet. My cold, wet socks made my feet feel gross. I stood there at the transition between the living room and kitchen, watching the large puddle move. The situation was getting worse. I dressed, and jogged down to the manager's office, but realized it was much too early. There was no one there. I had no idea what to do. I did not feel that a water leak necessitated a call to 911, but seemed too serious just to stand there and watch it get worse.
By the time I made it back home—merely minutes later—the water leak reached the living room carpet. I stated hearing some unusually heavy traffic from my neighbors above me, and I went out to front to see if I could find anything out. I could see my upstairs neighbor, Carrie, pacing—even more exasperated than I was. Carrie was drenched from chest to toe. I went up the stairs, and Carrie told me that her kitchen sink was leaking from below. For the first time in the five years we had been neighbors, I went into her apartment, and stopped short of the kitchen. The cupboard below the sink was open, and I could see her cleaning products stacked on the floor, in the growing puddle. I watched a steady geyser spraying from inside.
Carrie, a small woman my age, pointed at the water as though I had not seen it. "I tried turning the valve-thing under the sink and it broke off in my hand," she said, showing me a valve handle that looked as though it had been sent through an industrial shredder.
"Jesus," I said. "What did you do to it?"
"Nothing," Carrie replied, defensively. "I just twisted it. Do you know what to do?"
I shrugged. "I think I know just about the same about plumbing as you. Have you tried calling anyone?"
"I tried calling my boyfriend," Carrie replied. "But we've been fighting, and the bastard isn't picking up."
I subtly rolled my eyes, hoping I was not going to fall into a breakup rant.
"I just don't know what to do," Carrie said. She picked up a hoover carpet cleaner—only slightly larger than a vacuum cleaner, and started picking up water. In about five seconds, the tank filled up.
"Do you know anyone to call?" she asked.
I was about to tell her to call a plumber when I pulled out my cell phone. I initially thought about calling Derek—my sometimes boyfriend—before remembering that he was out of town. A cousin of his had passed away in Vermont. I had my phone out, and stared at my pathetically short contacts list of about ten people. One of those people was Chris, a man that I had a threesome with Derek once, and once been filmed by Derek having a good fuck session. I remembered that Derek said that Chris worked in maintenance of the plant he had worked. I thought that Chris liked me, and could help me out. Usually, I like to text, but thought that would have taken too much time. Chris picked up on the second ring.
"Chris," I said. "I hope you aren't busy. I need some help."
"No, I'm good," Chris replied. "I'm off Thursday-Fridays. What's up?"
"My upstairs neighbor has a leak," I replied. By this time, Carrie had dumped the water down the drain, and put the tank back in the carpet extractor. She resumed sucking water from her carpet. I had to step out of the apartment, the hoover was so loud.
"And it's getting into my apartment," I went on. "She tried turning the valve, but the handle broke in her hand. The apartment manager and maintenance isn't here yet. There's a lot of water."
"Okay," Chris said. "You're going to have to find the main water valve, and shut it off."
"Chris," I replied. "You might as well tell me to find the holy grail. I'm in an apartment, and have no idea where the main water valve is. I don't even know what to look for."
"Where are you at?" Chris asked.
"I'm at The Standard apartments off 51st avenue and Northern."
"51st avenue and Northern," Chris replied. "Well, I'm not far away. I'm getting gas at 35th avenue and Cactus. I can be there in five or ten minutes. What apartment number?"
"Well, I live in 136," I replied. "I'm currently in 236, dealing with this mess. Please hurry. You think you can help?"
"Well, I can get the water shut off," Chris replied. "Not a whole lot I can do about the water. I don't have an extractor."
"No," I said. "That will be fine. If you get the water shut off, maybe I'll buy you breakfast. How's that sound?"
"Give me five minutes."
"Go through the first gates," I said. "Go past the second dumpster, and park anywhere."
I hung up the phone, and watched Carrie dump another gallon of water down the drain. A hundred pound woman with a small hoover, I watched the water creep and build as though it was a slow moving tsunami.
Chris was true to his word. In less than five minutes, I heard car door slam, and I got a phone call.
"I'm here," he said.
I walked out, and leaned over the railing. "I'm up here," I said, waving my arms so he could see me.
Chris jogged upstairs, with a pair of channel lock pliers in his hand. I lifted my hand to the door, and followed him in.
"Carrie, this is my...friend Chris," I said. "He's here to help shut the water off."
Carrie shut the hoover off, and turned to Chris. "Oh," she said, smiling, and looking Chris over.
I felt a slight sting of jealousy, hoping that Chris would pay no attention to Carrie. If I had not been directly involved in Carrie's flood, I may have tried to direct Chris away from the apartment.
Chris took a step in side and saw the water on the floor. "It's worse than I thought," he whispered. "Okay. Give me a second to find the main."
I stepped back to give Chris some room. He walked out of the apartment, and jogged down the steps. I stayed upstairs with Carrie. In the matter of moments, the water slowed and stopped completely. I breathed a sigh of relief. Not a total sigh, because I didn't know how bad the damage downstairs had gotten. But at least I had a light at the end of the tunnel.
Chris jogged back upstairs. "Did that do it?"
"Yes," I replied. "The water has stopped."
"Good," Chris replied. "Where's your apartment."
"Downstairs," I said. "Right below this one. If it's not in worse shape than this one, it probably soon will be. Christ, I really don't want to deal with this right now."
The damage to my apartment was not yet as bad as I had thought. The puddle seemed to stop at the carpet, but I knew there was still a lot of water upstairs that would leak down to me. There was no point in panicking or getting upset. I was insured, and nothing personal had been affected. I hung around for the apartment manager to come; Carrie's neighbor had the man's cell number, and he came promptly. Within a half hour, a water restoration team was on site, but I did not have a need to stick around and watch them work. My apartment was not at a total loss; just needed some drywall and the carpet removed. Meanwhile, I decided to get lost as the water team started the cleanup.
Chris had stayed with me the entire time; I wondered whether it was because I had promised a free breakfast, or maybe he had wanted something else. After the morning I was having, I wanted a little something as well.
