Friday morning I stumble into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Every day, the same. Bathroom stumble, turn on the Keurig, kiss the kittens, climb in the shower. Ten minutes later, actually wake up. I count on a shower to shock me into the day, catapult me to success, wash away yesterday’s disappointments and convince me that today is, in fact, the first day of the rest of my life. And whatever other drivel to which I can cling in the wee morning hours.
Coffee maker whirs to a start. Shower door is not steamy; question mark? I put in a hand to find the water cold. My brain feels scrambled, the way cartoon characters shake their heads and it sounds as if all the nuts and bolts have broken loose? I look at Tommy Bahama, the little cat who perches outside the shower door each morning. He wears his quizzical face as well.
Put my hand in again, still cold. Leave the water running and make the bed. Sometimes it takes a bit to warm up. It’s why I started turning on the coffee after I move the shower handle–so that it’s burn my body hot when I return. Bed made, still cold.
Color me baffled. I can’t quite comprehend. Leave the shower running, I go to the kitchen faucet–cold water. Go to the other bathroom–water’s cold. I stand for a minute perplexed there is no hot water. I don’t pay a water bill so negligence is not at fault.
But I must tend to my day. I’m important after all. So I “sponge off.” Remember “sponge off” from eighth grade gym? We would tell the gym teacher we had our periods so we could “sponge off” instead of taking a full shower. This morning I’d jump in that eight grade shower room in a heartbeat. Instead I “sponge off” ala freezing sink water and French scented soap. I’m cleaner but not happy and warm–the triad of my morning scalding.
Meet with clients, go to lunch with Sisterella. I forget there’s no hot water. The garage elevator features a bright orange sign screaming something about a reported gas leak. Said gas company will fix it. Meantime, there will be neither fireplaces nor hot water for several days. Several days. Let that sink in. Several days.
It’s now Sunday. I’ve “sponged off” four times and remain completely flummoxed that there could be no hot water. This is America. It’s 2017. It’s Scottsdale. It’s Spring Training and we have no hot water? What the hell is the world coming to?
Perhaps I should be grateful for eighth grade gym teacher Ms. Everson, who taught us the fine art of “sponging off.” First world problem right?
Dammit. There’s a reason I live in the first world.