|
Middletown Transcript
  • Jeff Vrabel: The 38 steps of enduring a massive water leak in your house

    • email print
  • 1. Pipe bursts, flooding living room, kitchen and rest of downstairs with a half-inch of water.
    2. Realize house is largely underwater.
    3. Hurriedly shuffle wife and children outside, lock door, panic panickedly, wish you’d selected a different god, one who’s less of a jerk.
    4. Sweep sheets of water out of open doors of house with pitifully inadequate squeegee.
    5. Call House Unwettening People.
    6. Watch helplessly as House Unwettening People move everything in your house out of the way to make room for 300 high-speed fans.
    7. Wonder how much this is going to cost.
    8. Watch as House Unwettening People detach everything in your kitchen from the walls and floors, wonder what kind of training is required to effectively destroy a stranger’s cabinets.
    9. Wonder how much that is going to cost.
    10. Listen helplessly as House Unwettening People tell you how much this will cost.
    11. Struggle to remember even the basic highlights of your homeowners’ policy.
    12. Mentally page through list of friends you have who might be lawyers now.
    13. Call insurance company.
    14. Spend hour on phone with insurance company.
    15. Wait.
    16. Still wait.
    17. Just waiting.
    18. Continue waiting, watching helplessly as the ticking clock marks your own inevitable march to the grave.
    19. Lament the time you’re wasting the miraculous gift of life on the phone with an insurance agent.
    20. Wait some more.
    21. Listen as Insurance Guy says lots of nice things and is friendly.
    22. Wonder what you’ll think of him in two weeks.
    23. Live with in-laws for a week.
    24. Occasionally return home to concrete floor, fans, sadness. Begin to view waterlogged house and possessions as metaphor for your damaged, soggy life.
    25. Call insurance guy.
    26. Listen as insurance guy tells you to call Other Insurance Guy.
    27. Listen as Other Insurance Guy says no, you need First Insurance Guy.
    28. Repeat 30 times.
    29. Wonder how literally anything is accomplished in this country, ever.
    30. Wait for two Insurance Guys to have a hotly anticipated rendezvous.
    31. Wonder why you didn’t just go into insurance instead of comedy writing, because though their job sounds spine-crushingly boring they probably have health care.
    32. Wait for check from Insurance Guy.
    33. Live on concrete floors for like six weeks with your children, because safety.
    34. Receive check, debate moral implications of using check on something more fun than floor replacement, such as Literally Anything In The World.
    35. Commence repairs.
    36. Live with in-laws’ again for three days.
    37. Pay House Unwettening People and repairmen with checks that never in a billion years would clear under normal circumstances.
    Page 2 of 2 - 38. Slowly return to pre-flood life. Occasionally look into entry-level jobs in the insurance industry.

        calendar