As you know, we’re currently in the middle of COVID-19. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’re well-aware that we’ve all been given strict social distancing orders and aren’t supposed to leave our house. So naturally, if there’s ever going to be a flood fiasco in our apartment, it would absolutely happen now.
Let me walk you through this. Yesterday morning, there was a knock on our front door. Already, this was a problem. Why are people outside? Couldn’t they have picked a different house? Is someone dead?
I sent my husband and daughter upstairs and gingerly opened my front door. It was my neighbor friend from a few doors down, a truly wonderful woman who thankfully stepped away from my door to maintain the recommended six feet.
“Good morning!” she said. “Is your basement flooded?”
I’m sorry, what?
She then proceeded to tell me that water was blasting from the ceiling of our shared basement corridor, and that it was the deepest right in front of, you guessed it, our house.
And she was right – our garbage cans were already starting to swim down the hallway, the light fixture on the ceiling was functioning much like a sprinkler, and it was only a matter of time before the water would be high enough to seep right under the door and into our basement.
I called everyone I could think of – the building management group, plumbers, electricians, etc. while my husband ran downstairs and fiddled with random water valves. We finally narrowed down the source of our problem to being from my elderly next-door neighbor’s house, who finally came out after incessant knocking and phone-calling, only to say…
“Whoops! Sorry, guys. Guess I forgot to turn off my kitchen sink before I took my nap. It’s off now so you’re good.”
Well, there’s not much more to do than shake your head and carry on with your day then, is there? I love that woman to death, but I think my mindlessness is starting to rub off on those nearest to me…