I opened the door to my house to a surprise recently.
I could hear the sound of cascading water. In the dim light ahead of me, there was something that seemed to be shining — glittering even.
For a fleeting moment, I thought maybe, just maybe, Sultan Ali Abubu, had finally come through.
Don’t know if you are acquainted with him or not, but for the last longest he has repeatedly sent me friendly — but very poorly written — emails claiming that he will hand deliver “1 hunred millyun gold bar, sterling silver” to me, if only I will help him by giving him my credit card number, bank account number, birth date and pass words.
I didn’t do any of that, but someone did steal a check from me recently. I figured he and the Sultan got together and decided to do something nice for me.
Ah, well. No. That’s not what it was. You see, all that glitters is not gold. In fact, what was shimmering, glittering even, in my dining room was water.
About a quarter inch of water had already accumulated.
I started to call out to my wife: “Honey, did we get a pool.”
Just then, I remembered I didn’t have one. Well, either. I don’t have a wife or a pool.
I didn’t need floaties or a life preserver, but I waded through the quarter inch of water to the hall. The carpet squished like marshland beneath my feet.
The tub and lavatories in the bathrooms of the house were dry, raised islands in the middle of the stream.
Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers’ duet got stuck as an earworm in my head.
The pool’s waves lapped into my bedroom to within an inch of my bed.
I don’t live on the water. I’m not crazy about it. Give me the mountains any day. I know one thing is for sure. I certainly don’t want to live in the water.
Yet, it came a flood at my house.
I looked for the culprit. It was before Hurricane Debby came calling. We had almost a foot of rain with the hurricane, but that hadn’t done it. It had indeed rained that evening — stormed even, but not enough to cause this kind of flash flooding. I’m on a hill after all. If it gets wet up there, we might need to be looking for some gopher wood and pitch.
There was no busted pipe.
No, it was something more simple than that.
The toilet became incontinent and peed all over itself and most of my house. All day. Until I got home. It was on deadline day, so I was at work for almost 12 hours. The water had run all that time.
My brother diagnosed the problem. He said the flibbergibgibbit attached to the doohickey on the toilet malfunctioned, or at least that’s what I think he said.
The next few days saw the wonderful folks of ServPro come and run a grand total of 14 drying fans that were almost at hurricane force velocity.
My air conditioning already had a little Freon leak and having trouble keeping up. It was no match for the extra heat generated by the fans. It reached a high of a whopping 113 degrees in my house one afternoon.
I will need major renovations. Looks like I will get new flooring and lavatories for Christmas — a little ahead of schedule this year.
Thankfully, my insurance will cover the damage and the repair costs, and I have a place I can stay as a refugee until the repairs are made.
Just in case, I think I may send an email to the Sultan and see if he can spot me a couple grand and put me up for a few days.
