The funny thing about disasters

The funny thing about disasters is... well, nothing. In fact, you're so overwhelmed by shock, anxiety and self-pity that you fail to foresee the blog post potential in the event. And that explains why I do not have any photographs to illustrate the mayhem of the day I discovered that my hot water heater had ruptured and flooded the basement.

Some background: I had been very busy. I was out of town. I had friends in town. I battled a flea-infestation of Biblical proportions. And, consequently, I had ignored the giant mess that had grown in the basement over the past parental visit in August. But, on a rare weekend that I did not have to work or travel or host, I decided that it was time to clean the basement. So it was that on Saturday, October 24, with a garbage bag in one hand and rubber gloves in the other, I stepped into the basement and was greeted by a splash.

The splash brought to mind the funny, but muffled, hissing/running water sound that I had noticed perhaps a day earlier, but attributed to a neighbor's shower. Yet, a small part of my subconscious registered the noise as sinister. I should have listened to that voice, but I didn't. I figure the hot water heater had about a 24 to 36 hour lead on me. There was 1/4 to 1/2 an inch of water ALL over the basement, which according to my amateur calculations amounts to betwen 150 and 200 gallons over a 600 sq ft area.

Did I mention that the basement was carpeted?

June 2009

When disaster strikes, some people remain calm, some people break down, some people run. I call Dad.

Dad's first instruction was to turn off the water to the house. Why hadn't I thought of that? After the water was off, I headed to Lowe's to get a wet-vac ($89.97), while I called American Home Shield to see if my home warranty covered hot water heater explosions and texted half the people in my phonebook to relate my woes of being a single girl with a flooded basement.

The plumbing company I spoke to put me in touch with Rainbow International, which deals with water, fire and also "trauma scene" cleanup. The nice gentleman from Rainbow assured me that I was dealing with a very serious situation which would require special equipment and expertise and would likely cost $2,500. Now, if I had a flood of bloodborne pathogens in my basement, I might consider forking over $2,500 for professional help, but water???

Back home, vacuuming water off the floor and cursing my luck, I heard the dog barking. Upstairs, there was an angel standing at my door. Cousin Catherine was there with a pair of galoshes in one hand and a box fan in the other. Over the course of the next few hours we got the water off the kitchen tiles and determined that the carpet was beyond saving. We cut the carpet and the padding (read: 350 sq ft of very absorbent sponge) into little bits, bagged it all, and threw the debris out the door. (I am sorry I don't have a picture of the giant pile of trash, because it was so large that it prompted the neighbors to wonder and gossip about WHAT project Anne could possibly have going on NOW...)

Because no day in the life of a Burke is complete without at least two trips to a home improvement warehouse, we returned to Lowe's to get a dehumidifier ($239) and a hose ($7) to drain it into the shower so I wouldn't have to empty the bucket every 20 minutes.

Wet-Vac

Dehumidifier

ShopVac ($89.97) + Dehumidifier&Hose ($246) < $2,500
Rainbow International can take a hike.

Tomorrow's installment: plumbing & grinding.