Last Saturday, while I was taking Braelyn to get her pictures taken, Doug was going to tackle this project. (And don't think I was let off the hook. Braelyn has cried at every single photo session she's ever had, so picture time is an adventure all in itself.) About an hour later, I pull down our street. I am, of course, in my own little world with a huge smile on my face because Braelyn was a champ. Her pictures were incredible, and there wasn't one tear. While pulling in our driveway, I notice two men hunched over on the sidewalk. I finally realize that this madman on the sidewalk is Doug. He frantically motions to roll down the window and screams, "Our house is flooding! Call 911!" He runs back into the house with no further explanation. At this point, I think three things: 1. You don't call 911 when your house is flooding. 2. Water is probably gushing down the stairs and pouring through the sheet rock seams. 3. I don't have time to deal with insurance companies.
Doug comes back outside declaring that the water was shut off. I go upstairs expecting to see standing water all over the place. Instead, I see mud in the shower, wet clothes in the sink, towels everywhere, and obvious signs of water being splashed about. Definitely no signs of flooding. The only damage is to his cell phone, which was in his pocket.
While we wait for a plumber to return our phone call, Doug tells me what happened. When he was removing the shower valve, it just popped off. Water started spraying everywhere, and just like in the movies, he frantically tried to put the cover back on with the water spraying all over the place. He ran downstairs to try to find the main water line, but only found the sprinkler system. In a panic, he ran back upstairs to check on the water level and realized there was a drain in the shower. Soaking wet, he ran to our neighbors, who weren't home. He tried the next house. Their door was open and he was greeted by a huge, barking dog. He started shouting and rambling off the problem. He borrowed the neighbor's phone and called 911. They connected him with the City of Salem, but there was a problem with the connection. He tried the plumber who helped build our house. Doug started spouting off the problem as soon as someone picked up. A woman responded with, "Who is this?" No luck there. When he finally found the water shut off valve, the lid wouldn't open. He had to bother the neighbor (who could hardly walk) again to get a crowbar. Right as I pull into the driveway, Doug found the valve.
When the plumber returns our call, he says he can't fix our shower valve. (I think he was being nice and saving us money.) He alluded to the step by step directions that come with the part. He sends us to George Morlan, adding that they will know exactly what we need. He also adds that the new part should fix the drip.
As we are driving there, Doug tells me, "I always get myself in trouble when you're not home with me. You keep me grounded."
I respond by saying, "No, here's how it would have happened: I would have told you to shut off the water from the very beginning. You would have refused, and we would have gotten into a fight. The shower would have still exploded. I would have been right and that would have made you even more mad."
So we buy the part and return home. Doug installs the part in about ten minutes but puts it in backwards. Cold is hot and hot is cold. We decide that we will fix it the next day. Later that night as I start to fall asleep, I hear a noise. Drip. Drip. Drip.
*Note: Doug did reinstall the part the next day. He made sure to turn off the water. I can proudly say that the shower no longer drips.
