I just realized, I never told this blog the story of The Great Flood of 2008.
December 12, 2008, which was a Friday, was a pretty typical day all day. I was sitting at my computer, at a desk which was covered with Post-It notes, pens, and manila file folders, when, at a little after 5pm, I called Fuzz at work to discuss dinner.
We had barely exchanged greetings when a strange noise, like heavy rainfall, began in the wall behind me. That wall is an interior wall, and no rain was forecast nor visible outside the window. I turned around ...
And water began cascading from the ceiling fan over my head. And I do mean "cascade." It was as if I'd turned a faucet full on, except the water was falling from my ceiling and onto my desk, my monitor, and me.
My immediate thought was to blame the doofuses upstairs --- loud college students who tended to come home drunk at 3am and mistake my second-floor door for their third-story one, who were dumb enough to kick and pound on my door until I threatened them with a gun and the police. I thought they had left the water on and I was receiving the overflow. I ran out the front door of my apartment and went up the stairs in my slow fashion, my cell phone in one hand dialing the apartment main office and screaming at them to come turn the motherfuckin' water off.
The prissy little twit who answered the phone refused to talk to me until I stopped cussing. AAARGH!
By the time I hit the landing, the fire alarms started going off. Before I could get up the stairs to the third floor, the upstairs doofus came out of his apartment asking me what was happening. I screamed, "Is the water in your apartment?"
"No, I'm dry up here," he replied. "What's happening?"
I don't know how I replied to that; I was headed back downstairs. I couldn't figure ot what to do, other than call the apartment's main office and get someone up here to turn off the water.
Our apartment complex has two separate campuses, one lower, down by the main office, and the upper campus, where my apartment is located. It was 5pm on a Friday, and, I suspect, the staff had been in weekend mode when I called. When I called back, I was assured that the maintenance person was in the golf cart and on their way.
I called Fuzz, who was on his way home.
For what felt like twenty minutes --- but was probably only five --- I alternated between the apartment and the rail outside the apartment, desperately looking for maintenance's golf cart, calling Fuzz, calling the apartment complex's office, and just screaming my fool head off. Water was now pouring from every light fixture and sprinkler head in the living room ceiling, as well as in both the smaller bedrooms, which were full of books and papers. People had come out from the apartments on the other end of my building, as well as people from other buildings, drawn by the fire alarms; they were all staring at me as I roared my anger out at no one in particular.
Finally, the golf cart appeared with two maintenance guys in it, one of them a man I recognized from a recent repair. "Carlos!" I yelled, "Get in here and turn off this damn water!"
The Austin Fire Department responded to the shorted-out fire alarms. Brian, Jesus, and a fireman whose name I cannot recall came in and immediately scooped up the computers, monitors, and other electronics and took them into the master bedroom, which was not affected. They turned off the power in the apartment, and kept moving stuff into the master bedroom.
Right here, let me say that AFD rocks.
And the water kept on falling.
Fuzz showed up, his usual calm self, and got to work packing stuff away into the master bedroom. The firemen found push-broom-like squeegees and started pushing water out. I was walking around barefoot, since the ballet-slipper-like houseshoes I had been wearing were slippery when wet, and I was splashing arund in water over my feet and up my ankles.
And the water kept pouring down.
The carpet guy, who spoke excellent English, and the drywall/painter guys, who didn't speak much English at all, showed up and started moving stuff. We had a set of three metal shelves and four plastic shelves. Fuzz, the carpet guy, the drywall/painter guys, and the firemen moved the shelves into the driest part of the living room, and then started stacking stuff on said shelves.
The prissy little twit from the apartment main office showed up, looked around, and ran for cover, his tail tucked between his legs. The apartment maintenance supervisor appeared at some point, as well as a plumber.
Finally, after some forty-five minutes, it was determined that the leak wasn't in the main water system, but in the sprinkler system, and then someone had to figure out how to turn that system off.
It seemed to take fifteen minutes more before the water flow slowed to a trickle.
The ceiling sheetrock was the consistency of tapioca --- the firemen were worried that it would collapse at any moment. Yes, the firemen were still around --- since the fire alarms in the building were off, as well as the water to the sprinkler system, they had to stick around in case there was a fire. And they made themselves useful, pushing water from the parts of the apartment that were flooded out the sliding glass doors and off the balcony, packing stuff out onto the balcony and into the dry parts of the apartment, and being generally useful. I credit them with stopping the water just three feet outside the master bedroom.
By now, it was nearing seven o'clock, and it was dark outside and in the apartment. The firemen turned the power back on, and the plumber started looking for the leak by cutting holes in the sheetrock. It took a while, and required turning the water back on temporarily, but they finally found it. The pipe didn't spring a leak; instead, a join in the pipe separated. The plumber fixed the join and left soon after.
The carpet guy, the drywall/painter guys, and Fuzz had moved all the stuff they could. Furniture and boxes were on the balcony. To get useless me out of the way, Fuzz sent me in the car to find a place to stay for the night. He had to tell me twice, and once I understood what he wanted me to do, I felt so damn useless ...
All of my shoes were wet ... I don't recall what I wore on my feet when I went down to the car to drive around.
I found a Springhill Suites (a flavor of Marriott) down the road, and checked us in for a night. When I got back, I packed what clothes I could --- it being Friday, most of our clothes were in the dirty clothes hamper --- and we left around nine-thirty. The carpet guy had set up a set of four fans and a dehumidifier, and they were going ike gangbusters when we locked the door.
We came back Saturday morning, and tried to sort through wet stuff. Talk about demoralizing! Some of the shelving units were wet, and the stuff on those units was valuable --- Fuzz's collection of football cards had been on the top shelf, directly under the sprinkler head that broke, on the other side of the wall from me. The thick cardboard box, two feet by three feet big, was wet to the touch. We opened the box ... and out of the thusands of cards in there, only thirty were wet!
Sunday morning I couldn't stand it any longer, and neither could Fuzz ... we went to Circuit City and bought me an HP portable, the same computer I'm using now to post this blog entry. I was dying not being able to get my hands on a system of my own for nearly thirty-six hours. This machine is an HP with an AMD Turion chip and the wide screen. I'm loving it ... my old portable was on the metal shelf, and was standing in a half-inch of water for several hours before I realized what had happened to the shelf.
Sunday, we came back to the apartment and worked a few hours. Monday through Wednesday, I kept coming in here so I could watch the apartment while the carpet guy, the drywall/painter guys, and the apartment maintenance supervisor; Fuzz went to work. I got nothing done, and managed to piss off a client thereby.
The apartment complex ever so generously offered a rent concession of $200 --- after I asked for it --- which does not represent one week of the rent. Half of the concession was eaten up by the increase in the electric bill because of the four industrial fans and one dehumidifier that were running in here 24/7 from Friday night to Thursday morning.
The carpet guy came in Thursday and replaced the carpet pad and tacked the carpet back down. It was supposed to happen on Wednesday, but the carpet wasn't dry enough, and neither was the wall. The drywall/painter guys came in Wednesday, cut out the bottom of the wall in the library, and let it dry until Thursday.
We weren't able to move back into the apartment for a week; we got back in here the Saturday before Christmas. And even now, weeks later, the apartment is still a mess --- bags everywhere, even in the unused tub in the second bathroom. Even now, I'll pick up a bag and find a wet and moldy mess inside.
We're still in the process of making claims against our renter's insurance. We haven't gotten any money yet ... we're waiting. Fuzz thinks the insurance company is gonna stiff us ... I'm more hopeful.
On a hopeful note: Fuzz got a call from the insurance company asking when we planned to submit a furniture claim. Maybe they're just waiting for us to submit the big-ticket items before they cut us a check.
I can hope ...!
December 12, 2008, which was a Friday, was a pretty typical day all day. I was sitting at my computer, at a desk which was covered with Post-It notes, pens, and manila file folders, when, at a little after 5pm, I called Fuzz at work to discuss dinner.
We had barely exchanged greetings when a strange noise, like heavy rainfall, began in the wall behind me. That wall is an interior wall, and no rain was forecast nor visible outside the window. I turned around ...
And water began cascading from the ceiling fan over my head. And I do mean "cascade." It was as if I'd turned a faucet full on, except the water was falling from my ceiling and onto my desk, my monitor, and me.
My immediate thought was to blame the doofuses upstairs --- loud college students who tended to come home drunk at 3am and mistake my second-floor door for their third-story one, who were dumb enough to kick and pound on my door until I threatened them with a gun and the police. I thought they had left the water on and I was receiving the overflow. I ran out the front door of my apartment and went up the stairs in my slow fashion, my cell phone in one hand dialing the apartment main office and screaming at them to come turn the motherfuckin' water off.
The prissy little twit who answered the phone refused to talk to me until I stopped cussing. AAARGH!
By the time I hit the landing, the fire alarms started going off. Before I could get up the stairs to the third floor, the upstairs doofus came out of his apartment asking me what was happening. I screamed, "Is the water in your apartment?"
"No, I'm dry up here," he replied. "What's happening?"
I don't know how I replied to that; I was headed back downstairs. I couldn't figure ot what to do, other than call the apartment's main office and get someone up here to turn off the water.
Our apartment complex has two separate campuses, one lower, down by the main office, and the upper campus, where my apartment is located. It was 5pm on a Friday, and, I suspect, the staff had been in weekend mode when I called. When I called back, I was assured that the maintenance person was in the golf cart and on their way.
I called Fuzz, who was on his way home.
For what felt like twenty minutes --- but was probably only five --- I alternated between the apartment and the rail outside the apartment, desperately looking for maintenance's golf cart, calling Fuzz, calling the apartment complex's office, and just screaming my fool head off. Water was now pouring from every light fixture and sprinkler head in the living room ceiling, as well as in both the smaller bedrooms, which were full of books and papers. People had come out from the apartments on the other end of my building, as well as people from other buildings, drawn by the fire alarms; they were all staring at me as I roared my anger out at no one in particular.
Finally, the golf cart appeared with two maintenance guys in it, one of them a man I recognized from a recent repair. "Carlos!" I yelled, "Get in here and turn off this damn water!"
The Austin Fire Department responded to the shorted-out fire alarms. Brian, Jesus, and a fireman whose name I cannot recall came in and immediately scooped up the computers, monitors, and other electronics and took them into the master bedroom, which was not affected. They turned off the power in the apartment, and kept moving stuff into the master bedroom.
Right here, let me say that AFD rocks.
And the water kept on falling.
Fuzz showed up, his usual calm self, and got to work packing stuff away into the master bedroom. The firemen found push-broom-like squeegees and started pushing water out. I was walking around barefoot, since the ballet-slipper-like houseshoes I had been wearing were slippery when wet, and I was splashing arund in water over my feet and up my ankles.
And the water kept pouring down.
The carpet guy, who spoke excellent English, and the drywall/painter guys, who didn't speak much English at all, showed up and started moving stuff. We had a set of three metal shelves and four plastic shelves. Fuzz, the carpet guy, the drywall/painter guys, and the firemen moved the shelves into the driest part of the living room, and then started stacking stuff on said shelves.
The prissy little twit from the apartment main office showed up, looked around, and ran for cover, his tail tucked between his legs. The apartment maintenance supervisor appeared at some point, as well as a plumber.
Finally, after some forty-five minutes, it was determined that the leak wasn't in the main water system, but in the sprinkler system, and then someone had to figure out how to turn that system off.
It seemed to take fifteen minutes more before the water flow slowed to a trickle.
The ceiling sheetrock was the consistency of tapioca --- the firemen were worried that it would collapse at any moment. Yes, the firemen were still around --- since the fire alarms in the building were off, as well as the water to the sprinkler system, they had to stick around in case there was a fire. And they made themselves useful, pushing water from the parts of the apartment that were flooded out the sliding glass doors and off the balcony, packing stuff out onto the balcony and into the dry parts of the apartment, and being generally useful. I credit them with stopping the water just three feet outside the master bedroom.
By now, it was nearing seven o'clock, and it was dark outside and in the apartment. The firemen turned the power back on, and the plumber started looking for the leak by cutting holes in the sheetrock. It took a while, and required turning the water back on temporarily, but they finally found it. The pipe didn't spring a leak; instead, a join in the pipe separated. The plumber fixed the join and left soon after.
The carpet guy, the drywall/painter guys, and Fuzz had moved all the stuff they could. Furniture and boxes were on the balcony. To get useless me out of the way, Fuzz sent me in the car to find a place to stay for the night. He had to tell me twice, and once I understood what he wanted me to do, I felt so damn useless ...
All of my shoes were wet ... I don't recall what I wore on my feet when I went down to the car to drive around.
I found a Springhill Suites (a flavor of Marriott) down the road, and checked us in for a night. When I got back, I packed what clothes I could --- it being Friday, most of our clothes were in the dirty clothes hamper --- and we left around nine-thirty. The carpet guy had set up a set of four fans and a dehumidifier, and they were going ike gangbusters when we locked the door.
We came back Saturday morning, and tried to sort through wet stuff. Talk about demoralizing! Some of the shelving units were wet, and the stuff on those units was valuable --- Fuzz's collection of football cards had been on the top shelf, directly under the sprinkler head that broke, on the other side of the wall from me. The thick cardboard box, two feet by three feet big, was wet to the touch. We opened the box ... and out of the thusands of cards in there, only thirty were wet!
Sunday morning I couldn't stand it any longer, and neither could Fuzz ... we went to Circuit City and bought me an HP portable, the same computer I'm using now to post this blog entry. I was dying not being able to get my hands on a system of my own for nearly thirty-six hours. This machine is an HP with an AMD Turion chip and the wide screen. I'm loving it ... my old portable was on the metal shelf, and was standing in a half-inch of water for several hours before I realized what had happened to the shelf.
Sunday, we came back to the apartment and worked a few hours. Monday through Wednesday, I kept coming in here so I could watch the apartment while the carpet guy, the drywall/painter guys, and the apartment maintenance supervisor; Fuzz went to work. I got nothing done, and managed to piss off a client thereby.
The apartment complex ever so generously offered a rent concession of $200 --- after I asked for it --- which does not represent one week of the rent. Half of the concession was eaten up by the increase in the electric bill because of the four industrial fans and one dehumidifier that were running in here 24/7 from Friday night to Thursday morning.
The carpet guy came in Thursday and replaced the carpet pad and tacked the carpet back down. It was supposed to happen on Wednesday, but the carpet wasn't dry enough, and neither was the wall. The drywall/painter guys came in Wednesday, cut out the bottom of the wall in the library, and let it dry until Thursday.
We weren't able to move back into the apartment for a week; we got back in here the Saturday before Christmas. And even now, weeks later, the apartment is still a mess --- bags everywhere, even in the unused tub in the second bathroom. Even now, I'll pick up a bag and find a wet and moldy mess inside.
We're still in the process of making claims against our renter's insurance. We haven't gotten any money yet ... we're waiting. Fuzz thinks the insurance company is gonna stiff us ... I'm more hopeful.
On a hopeful note: Fuzz got a call from the insurance company asking when we planned to submit a furniture claim. Maybe they're just waiting for us to submit the big-ticket items before they cut us a check.
I can hope ...!
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