Ohhhhh, Canada. And a boring story with a moral.

So, I spent much of the last week home alone (N.O. was finishing up his last few days of work last week) and totally running out of steam when it comes to unpacking and doing home improvements. I'm just plain old tired of cardboard boxes and crumpled newspaper. Not to mention paint. So for both company and inspiration, I have had a steady stream of HGTV blaring day and night. Turns out, quite a few of the shows on that network are filmed in Canada. And what I learned is this: Canadians are dorks. I know, I know, it's not their fault. They just can't help it. Canadians are just kind of uncool. They seem nice, though.

PS. If any of you are Canadian, I'm sorry. At least you aren't Alaskan. Because it is an incontrovertible fact that all Alaskans are weirdos.

So, here's my first real "homeowner" story: When we moved in, the water was already turned on, so getting the account put into my name wasn't high on my list of priorities. Of course, this was a mistake. Last Wednesday afternoon (just before 5:00), I turned on the tap and got a tiny dribble, then nothing. Oops. I called the water company, and was told that I needed to bring them some paperwork proving we own the house. I had twenty minutes before the office closed, and N.O. had the paperwork with him. At work. In Everycity. No water for A-Dub tonight. Luckily, my younger sister, E-Dub lives in JoB, and kindly let me shower and brush my teeth at her place that evening. Next morning, I brushed my teeth with some bottled water and headed down to the water office. (N.O. had faxed the necessary paperwork to the water people.) They informed me that the water at our house had been turned on illegally in the first place, so there would be a substantial fine. Thing is, of course, none of my people were responsible for this illegal activity. We aren't water-stealers! My kindly new friends (I had my charm turned up to eleven on this occasion) at the water office waived the fine in exchange for a written statement swearing I had never, ever knowingly stolen water, and, in fact, would not even know how to do such a thing if I wanted to (all true). I paid my turn-on charges and they scheduled the water to be cut on that afternoon. Also, one of my new BFFs told me that there were actually four water boxes at our house--one for each unit and a fourth for the irrigation system. This was news to me, since we had no knowledge of any kind of sprinkler system. I made a mental note, and went home.


That afternoon, I had a million things to take care of on campus--like registration permits to be signed by professors, deans, student body presidents, and cafeteria lunch ladies. So I was out of the house most of the afternoon. When I came back, I found a note from the water department. They had been there and left without turning on the water. Apparently I had a tap on inside, and their policy is not to turn on water when there is a tap on, lest it flood your house. OK, I can appreciate that. The note gave me written permission to turn the water on myself. How nice. Unfortunately, I was telling the complete truth when I told them earlier that I had no idea how to do such a thing. It was almost 5:00 again. I called the water department. They informed me I should stick my hand in the dirty, bug-filled water box and turn the knob a quarter-turn. I knelt down in the dirt (I was wearing a cute above-the-knee cargo skirt at the time, so my knees got rather dirty) and turned. Nothing happened. Unfazed, I retrieved a pair of N.O.'s vise grips from inside the house and tried again. It didn't budge. Sweaty, I returned to the house to swear and throw things. A few minutes later, calmer, I tried again and finally got the water turned on late Thursday afternoon.

That night, N.O. came home and I told him about the irrigation system thing. Friday, N.O. repaired a tap in another unit (luckily, I was now quite familiar with how to turn the water off and on, so I helped with that). Later, we scoured the yard for any signs of buried sprinkler heads. There were some guys from the city water department across the street waiting for something. They were obviously trying to figure out what we were doing, so we asked if they had any advice for finding buried irrigation lines. They helped out with that and then we all noticed another underground water box, closer to the house. The water guys thought it might house the sprinkler box, so they opened it up. It held three knobs. One of the guys tried a knob, but it just spun. We figured, whatever they were, they were no longer functional.

As we were eating dinner that night, the tenant whose tap N.O. had repaired came over to very sweetly tell us that her water was still off. We had turned it back on when we had finished working on the tap hours earlier, so we knew something else must have happened. Long story short, that knob that "only spins" was another cutoff valve to the water in that unit, and the water guy had actually (through no fault of his own) broken it when he turned it--broken it in the "off" position, no less. N.O. and I dug in the dirt for about an hour, then spent about $60 at Home Depot on parts, then dug in the dirt in complete darkness for about another hour. (Fortunately, said tenant was not staying at her apartment that night, so she wasn't inconvenienced by the lack of water.)

N.O. said some terrible curse words and finally we decided to call a plumber. You know, one of those 9:00 on Friday night plumbers. That kind. Turns out, those people do exist. They're sort of the Rumpelstiltskins of the plumbing world--"I'll give you what you need in exchange for a huge price later." Only instead of our firstborn child, it was $400. But close enough.

The moral of the story is: when you take your shower tonight, be grateful. It is a huge pain to live without water flowing through those pipes, and a huge hassle when something goes wrong. Also, if you find unfamiliar knobs in or about your home, resist the urge to see what they do. It isn't worth it.