Are you sitting down? You probably should sit down for this one.
Yesterday we had a late day. I mean, we woke up late, had a late breakfast, and a very late lunch. And about 7pm we agreed that neither of us was hungry and that we would just snack a bit and binge some Ted Lasso (which by the way, if you haven't watched...you should).
As bingeing goes, that "okay, one more" ended about midnight, and we began our migration into the bedroom. I hit the bathroom first only to discover...the hot water heater had blown up. That's right, our fucking hot water heater was dribbling out the last drops of our civilized world. I know, right? What else could possibly happen on this crazy trip? Wait. I didn't say that out loud; the gods will take revenge.
Anyway, I remember hearing a crack earlier in the evening, but thought it was just the house settling, or the neighbors, or the courtyard cat tipped over a pot. Turns out, it was Satan's minions popping the top of the heater right off. Right. Fucking. Off! Then I do the dumbest thing I think I have ever done. I reach back under the waterfall and begin to unplug the heater. You know that thought bubble that screams, "WHAT IN THE LITERAL FUCK ARE YOU DOING??? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL US???" I did not hear that bubble. At least not until I had unplugged the unit. FYI: I also did not get shocked.
So it's 12:15am, all my toiletries are sopping wet, as is the floor, the shelving, and now...all the towels (more laundry, ugh). I do not expect a response from my rapid fire SOS text to the property manager, but lo and behold, she replies!
She first asks if I can turn off the water (um, no), and then tells me that she will try to contact the emergency plumber and have him come out. Tonight??? Yep. I then text the owner of the VRBO with whom I've exchanged a couple of nice e-mails to let her know what's going on. SHE replies (it's true, no one goes to bed early here). She tells me that they are trying to reach the plumber and to await updates. It's now about 1:30am. Joe's a bit drowsy because he just took some European super cough medicine, and he's fading on the couch. And I'm about to call a Marriott and a cab.
About 2am I hear from the owner: due to the hour, the plumber will not come until morning. Frankly, duh.
Not much else we can really do, so we put pans and bowls under the leaking heater and go to bed. At 6am I wake up to pee and empty the bowls (that's bowls, not bowels), which are full to the brim. At 8:15 we are up (I empty the bowls again), and I text the Property Manager for some idea of when the plumber will arrive. Shock! He's coming in about 30 minutes!
He shows up, takes one look and says it needs to be replaced... I begin thinking about how we're going to pack up all our shit and move to a hotel today because if the leaky sink took three days, this'll take a week.
Just as Joe and I are laughing - what else can we do? - I get a text from Rosa: Buena! Que tal? So I tell her what's going on and could she maybe recommend a hotel if we need one. Now she's laughing. I then get a text from the owner - can the plumber come and replace the heater around noon? NOON??? Hell yes he can!
I don't know what promises were made. I don't know what strings were pulled. I don't know what made the wind blow our sails in the right direction, but by 2pm we had a new hot water heater. By 3pm we had hot water. Tons of it. And by 5:30 I was dressed and ready for our night on the town.
So, off we go. It's a good thing, too, because I definitely need a drink.
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