I kinda pretended to ravish her, when she told me to, right after I fixed her plumbing. Its kind of complicated, you see ..."
- - - - -
Coming off the Old Mine Road, out of the Delaware Water Gap State Forest, I crossed over the Delaware River via the toll-bridge at Montague, New Jersey. I powered up the road, and into the small former mill-town. I was beat, even though it was still just late afternoon. I'd spent the better part of a week in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, with my attorney and the State Police, on legal matters.
So, I was pretty much pooped by the time I motored through town, and saw a motel off to the left. I just stopped the bike-sidecar rig, and went in to get a room. It was a mom-and-pop place, and the person taking my money (cash) was an East Indian woman. I thought she looked pretty. She was polite, but spoke with an accent, and made little eye contact with me. I got one of the rooms next to the motel office, as there weren't many travelers in mid-week. The room had a back door, to the utility area, which I just ignored.
I unloaded the scooter and sidecar completely, thinking to take everything to a service station with a coin-operated vacuum, and suck up six months worth of accumulated dirt and crud. So I wound up with my tools and spare parts in the room with me, besides my minimalist clothes and other stuff.
After stripping to my underwear, I lay down on the bed, just to close and rest my eyes for a minute, before getting some dinner.
When I heard the bang and whoosh of high-pressure water, and the scream of women's voices, it must have been four hours later, pulling me from a sound sleep.
It was full dark, and the lights were out. I heard screams and excited female voices, and, again, my damsel-in-distress gene kicked in. Fumbling for a flashlight, I stumbled out of bed, dressed in boxer shorts, socks and an undershirt. Nothing was unusual, out the front door, so I opened the back door, and heard more screams coming from my right. So, of course, that's the direction I went.
I blundered into the motel's utility room, and was met with a scene of wet chaos. The lights were off, and there was water spraying everywhere. It looked as if a water main had burst, and was shooting water everywhere. Sparks were coming from the main electrical panel. Acting on instinct, I grabbed for the handle that shut down all the power, and pushed it up, somehow without electrocuting myself. Inside the room, there were two women, clutching each other and screaming, as water cascaded into the room. The sunken cement floor was already a couple of inches deep, and the water was rising.
I knew I had to act fast, so, not asking for permission, I started searching for the main water shut-off valve. With cold, near-freezing water pouring over me, I carefully directed the flashlight's beam over the pipes, back from the break, and after a few minutes, found it. It was the usual ball-valve, and, grabbing the handle, I pulled hard, and dragged the handle into a right-angle to the pipe. The gush of water, now ankle-deep slowed and then ceased.
Completely soaked, I turned to the whimpering women, and said, "Where's the floor drain?"
One, the older, dressed in a tunic and pants thing I've seem before on Indian women, just stared and shrugged. The other girl, a lot younger, looked at me, and said, "It's somewhere in the middle, but now I can't tell, it's so dark." I sighed, and got down on my hands and knees, to do a sweep search of the floor.
It took about ten minutes and my hands were numb, before I found it. Naturally, it was solidly clogged. I got up, and 'squelched' back to my room, to get my tool kit, spares, and the little box of latex gloves I keep in the bike. Returning, I re-found the floor drain. Getting out my biggest screwdriver and a locking wrench, I managed to get the brass screws off the drain cover, and the cover off, as well.
When the younger girl brought me the bucket I asked for, I put on the gloves, then just got back down on my knees, and started pulling nameless black gunk from the vertical drain. The clog went down, and down. When I reached the limit of my arms, and the drain still hadn't opened, I got down on my side, and managed to reach down another foot or so, to bring up more nameless black stuff.
Laying there in the cold water, I sensed a presence and looked to the side. The older woman had thrown off her tunic top and, dressed in a wet t-shirt, was helping throw out the accumulated stuff I'd pulled from the drain. The water-soaked thin material had molded itself to her skin, and covered her breasts and nipples like a second skin. Not wanting to pass up this 'wet-t-shirt-moment,' even cold, wet, shivering and dirty, I looked over at her, with her small breasts outlined by the wet fabric and said, "You're very lovely."
She gapped at me, and then, so help me, she both blushed and grinned, saying, "You must be knowing that I'm a wet mess and a married woman, too."
I said, grasping at what felt like a major piece of clog, "I still think you're beautiful. He is lucky."
Maybe I wasn't supposed to hear, but she murmured, "He is not here. He is never here. He is with his drugs and his boy-friends, in New York City. Only you, Sumita and I are here, and I think you are very beautiful, too."
I grabbed at the last piece, and pulled it out of the black hole of Calcutta. The water gurgled, and started draining out of the floor. I got up, and then looked over at the place where the water pipe break had taken place.
"Uh-oh," I said, as it was clear that the water meter had been clumsily by-passed by a section of light copper pipe, and it had been that by-pass that'd broken. Someone—I'd have placed quite a bet it was the husband—had tried to save some dollars by getting free, un-metered water. I grasped at the fitting, and it came away in my hands, the copper rotted where it had been in contact with the iron pipe.
There wasn't much I could do, but, if I wanted another hot shower, the place would have to have running water. I looked around, and scrounged up some wire, and a piece of stiffly-flexible plastic. I dried the fixture as best I could with a couple of still-dry towels, from the room I had. Putting four hose-clamps loosely in place, and then slathering on fast-set epoxy from my kit, I clamped a patch over the broken opening. Along with the hose clamps, I wrapped some heavy wire I found around the patch, and smeared on some more epoxy. I did this for both the broken pipes, so the water would run through the meter, again, and tightened the clamps.
I told both the women not to turn on any water (because the epoxy had to cure), and then looked over the two big washers and dryers for water damage. The washers appeared OK, but it was immediately clear that the dryers were jammed full of soggy lint and waste. Their lint screens had been pulled out, and thrown on the floor. So, I spent more cold, wet time, digging out sopping-wet lint. I then went outside, and, in the cold weather, cleaned out the louvers and the dryer exhaust ports. It was cold and windy out there, and I was numb and shivering when I got back inside.
Returning, I cautiously pushed the power-handle of the electrical box back up, and re-set all the switches. Suddenly we had light.
Then, carefully, I turned on the water at the main valve, and determined that all I had from my fix was one small, dribbling leak. A bucket, emptied regularly, would take care of that. I re-lit the motel's large hot water heater. I told the older woman that she just had to get a plumber out there, to put the damage back to rights, and to call the water company, too.
