Flood Day on Santiago

It all started with my trying to save a little money and install a new dishwasher by myself. Debby asked if I ever had done so before, and I had to admit I hadn't. But I did just install a new garbage disposal, so I was somewhat at home in our kitchen. She overcame her sensible reservations and let me have my way (perhaps for the last time).

Before the joy of installing comes the PIA of uninstalling. That was my downfall. I had managed to coax the dishwasher out of its cupboard with some effort, since the raised tile floor presented a formidable obstacle. All that remained was to disconnect the hot water supply pipe and I was home free. I no sooner put a box wrench on the nut at the shutoff valve and all bloody hell broke loose. The valve broke completely off its badly corroded nipple and I was drenched in a plume of hot water jetting from the wall under the sink. Profanities rang from the rafters as I shouted to Debby that we had a major emergency and raced out the front door for the street to find the master shutoff. But all I could see inside the concrete box at the curb was the water meter. No valve was visible. More profanities as I raced up to the house to find another master valve. There it was, behind the sprinkler valves. I crank and crank. Nothing. The stem of the gate valve is broken and turning freely. I am in truly deep stuff now. I shout to Debby that I was not able to find a working shutoff valve and she shouts back, "Go see Mark".

Mark is our neighbor three doors up. I raced there and found him home. If he hadn't been, I had one last resort that I might have thought of, the valve on top of the water heater in the basement. But he was home and brought his valve key and told me that the valve was indeed there in front of the meter at the curb, but it was covered with muck from our recent heavy rains, so we couldn't see it. He worked the key around in the muck until it located the valve lever. End of immediate problem.

But Debby was in a traumatic state. For five minutes she had tried to contain the flood of hot water with pans, rags and towels, but the kitchen was flooded and the water was flowing over and around towel dams and through walls onto the hardwood floors of all the adjacent rooms. She had called the first plumber she had seen in the phone book and he was on his way. His 10 minute estimate overflowed to nearly an hour when his truck finally appeared.

Once the water was off, I could have gone to the hardware store, bought a new nipple and valve, and fixed the problem. But I was tired and Debby was really upset, so I just let the plumber work his magic. $200 and 45 minutes later all was back to normal, the old dishwasher was in the driveway, and a fan was blowing across the drying hardwood floors.

The old galvanized nipple (short piece of pipe) was totally rotted. When one lives in an 82 year old house, the house's age should factor into any plans and estimates for repairs. Surprises lurk everywhere. Looking on the bright side, I am glad the plumbing problem occurred on my watch, rather than blowing out while we were on vacation. Debby played the good trooper role and congratulated us on being such a dynamic duo in the face of emergency. But I know I owe her one.