Leanne and I looked at some real shit holes before finding a great apartment in Jamaica Plain. All it took was pretending that we were a young couple in love to convince the elderly landlords that we deserved the place. "We're really just looking for a place to settle down together." We chimed in unison and held each other's hands, cooing.
"You're the cutest couple we ever did see." they replied. Jackpot.
My first morning in the new apartment ended badly. Waking up and stumbling over boxes and bags to get to the bathroom for a shower, I found a towel, some soap, and disrobed. I liked our new bathroom. It was somewhat spacious, clean tiles and tub, and even has a little timer dial on the wall that you turn to the desired length of your shower (i.e. 20 minutes) and an exhaust fan on the ceiling would come on for exactly tweny minutes. Aside from the convenience of the fan, it was also nice to have a little alarm clock. When the fan shuts off, it was time to get out of the comfy, warm shower or risk being late.
I reached out from behind the hideous tropical bird themed shower curtain and turned the dial to 20 minutes. The gentle humming of the fan came on and filled me with peace. Before I could turn the water on, the gentle hum of the fan increased into a loud monotone whirring sound, like a super-powered hand dryer in a public restroom. As the noise increased in intensity and pitch, the shower curtain began swaying to and fro. Slapping against my bare, white thighs and then retreating out of the tub entirely. I could feel the wind generated from the fan sweeping over me like an el niño jetstream. It gave me the chills.
Rather than worry about the curtain or how to fix the fan, I was more concerned with getting warm. I reached down and turned on the hot water. It came pouring out of the tub faucet and felt nice against my feet. I pushed the faucet switch over from "tub" to "shower," prepared to be engulfed in hot water.
I was mistaken.
The entire time, I had never even bothered to look up at the shower head. If I had, I would have noticed that it was missing. It was a pipe protruding from the wall that ended abruptly without any sort of controlling device to stop the flow of water. Like a rider of an unfinished roller coaster, I could see what lay ahead, but was powerless to stop it.
Water came bursting forth from the pipe overhead like it were a fire hydrant. The unexpected force of it shoved me back against the tiled wall. My slick, bare bottom skidded over the tiles as I struggled to maintain balance. I reached forward, trying desperately to grab the handle and turn the water off, but the relentless flood blasted me in the face. Blinded by scalding water and stumbling around like a a dog on ice, I reached out for something--anything--to help me regain my footing.
I latched my meathooks around the shower curtain, trying to pull myself upright against the raging torrent of water. As I put my weight on the curtain, the shower rings began to burst open, one by one i could hear them snapping off, unable to bear my heavy burden. The last few rings burst open with a snap and sealed my fate. I lurched sideways and toppled out of the tub like a mighty oak tree.
Luckily, a box of towels and prescription drugs broke my fall and I was spared a savage concussion on the tiled floor. Without my body in the way to take the brunt of the firehose shower head, the water was now spraying against the back wall and splashing all over the bathroom--wetting the floor, ceiling, boxes, and towels.
I tried getting back on my feet. I thought if I could just turn the water off, the morning could be salvaged. I could eat my Lucky Charms, watch Al Roker give me the weather forecast "in my neck of the woods" and traipse off to work like nothing had gone wrong. I tried desperately to get up, but I was tangled up in the curtain. An otherwordly fog was enveloping the bathroom. I couldn't see my feet to disentangle them from the snare. The shower curtain constricting against me felt like a wet trash bag, making my skin crawl.
Thrashing around on the bathroom floor like a drunken goldfish didn't seem to help. Puddles of hot water were forming on the floor. I started to panic.
"LEANNE!" I screamed. "HELP!"
No response.
"WAKE UP! I'M STUCK!"
My pleas for help were being swallowed by the gurgling sound of the ineffectual fan above. Slithering across the floor and shedding the curtain behind me like snake skin, I reached again for the faucet knob. Adrenaline pumping, sweat and tears mixing with saturated air, I finally grasped a knob through the fog and heaved myself on top of it.
The endless stream from the pipe above stopped. My twenty minutes were up and the fan shut off. The chaos was shattered by sudden silence. The drain gurgled as a few remaining water drops slid down its mouth.
I heaved off the limp, wet shower curtain and threw it into the tub with extreme prejudice. The parrots printed on it seemed to caw with laughter. I looked around the bathroom at the broken, soggy box I had landed on, the puddles on the floor, the fogged up mirror, the shower curtain rungs that had fallen on the floor along with me. It resembled a scene from Titanic.
It took another tweny minutes just to clean up the wreckage. I strolled into work an hour late, disheveled, unshowered, and badly groomed.
"How's the new apartment?" My coworkers asked.
"It's good."
