Plumbing Wars

I swore I wouldn't just journal about my life because I usually don't think it's anyone's business what I do during the day. But today was the final straw in a series of unfortunate events that I just HAVE to share my misfortune in order to let off steam.

As an Associate Manager, it's my job to accompany the boss(es) on any and every tirade they might undertake. Today, that meant attending the West Texas Homebuilder's Association luncheon. Yes, it is as boring as it sounds. However, since I'm only twenty, I was determined to look professional and impress everyone.

This is hard to do when your hot water heater has a personal vendetta against you.

I'm one of those people who loves to have a scalding hot bath, then top it off with a scalding hot shower. I know technically it's bad for your skin, but since I reject sunlight and always either stay inside or hide under an umbrella when I'll be outside for extended time, I figure scalding my skin just puts me on a level playing field with tan people.

In our previous house, we had two hot water heaters: one upstairs and one downstairs. Not only that, but they were extremely efficient. They could be drained and reheated at ten minute intervals. I was in lavawater heaven.

Not so in this house. We have only one hot water heater for the whole house (normal, I know, but I was spoiled to fancy living) and it's so old, it makes that pokey old lady who always makes you late to work seem like a NASCAR driver. Not to mention, it has four temperature settings: Volcano, warm, cold, and subzero. Almost every day, I am stranded in the tub with shampoo in my hair and soap all over my body, praying to Heaven that a drop of hot water returns so I can wash myself off before I die of frostbite.

Which is exactly what happened today. I even tried to conserve hot water by taking only a lukewarm bath and then waiting thirty minutes before starting the shower for it to heat back up. Somehow, in the mind of my malicious hot water heater, I had still managed to use up my quota of warm water. It proceeded to spit it's customary subzero water out of the spigot, sending me into a raging fury. I was covered in soap scum and desperately needing to wash my hair. But did it understand? Of course not.

I then learned rule #1 about temper tantrums in the tub: Do. Not. Punch. Tile. It hits back harder than you can imagine.

So now, I have to go to the luncheon with sticky, soapy skin; greasy, unwashed hair; and a mysterious bruise on my hand.

I'm not really sure what to do in this situation or in future situations when I need to take a particularly good shower and can't (I should mention that even if I just take a shower, I still run out of hot water in like... three minutes.). I am at war with my plumbing and I must admit, I am being pwned.