Water

 

In the fall of 1958 I was sitting in my seventh grade science class at Boston Latin School when Mr. Thompson, my kindly, elderly science teacher, told me and the class, that "water seeks its own level." I nodded and wrote that tidbit down in my l'il science notebook. Yup. "Water seeks its own level," I dutifully wrote.

That was 66 years ago. People, believe me when I tell you that for those 66 years I have had no freaking idea what "water seeks its own level" actually means. No idea whatsoever.

Until last week.

Now I know. And sure as you're born you can bet that water sure does seek its own damn level. As far as things you can count on, it's right up there with Newton's First Law of Motion and how much the Yankees suck.

It's a doggone law of nature is what it is.

My new appreciation for what water is capable of seeking is the direct result of something that happened in Unit 440 at the Grand Harbor condominiums last Thursday sometime around 3 a.m. It was right around that time that the water filtration system the good folks in #440 had inherited from previous owners basically self-destructed sending hundreds, maybe thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of gallons of water throughout #440, then down to #340, then down to #240 and finally down to TLOTH and me in #140.

The photo above gives you a good idea of exactly what the millions of gallons of water coming out of 440 sought. The second set of balconies on the left is the "40" stack. That's us on the bottom and that's 440 three balconies above. The water coming out of that busted filtration system at 3:00 a.m. was on a mission. Did the water seek to go sideways into the 50's and 30's ? No it did not. Did the water seek to go higher into 540 or even all the way up to 940? Not at all. That was not what it sought.

Evidently afraid of heights and unwilling to go sideways, those billions of gallons of water sought ground level, straight down through baseboards, sheetrock, and floor vents where it would stage a grand reunion and enjoy the hospitality in #140.

That is what is meant by "Water seeks its own level" folks.

Take it from me. It sucks to be the level that trillions of gallons of water are seeking.

We became aware of our watery dilemma by 6:30 a.m. when our neighbor above called us to see if we had been liquified. That's when we discovered a couple of inches filling up the floor space in our HVAC alcove.

"This is water seeking its own level," I told Nan helpfully.

"I got it, Archimedes," said Nan aghast. 

In the interests of full disclosure I should now acknowledge a tiny oversight on my part that occurred that very morning. When I took Buddy out for his first morning stroll at 6:00 a.m., I couldn't help but notice the streams of water cascading down from above our front door. 

My first thought: an unusual amount of condensation.

Somewhere up there in Teacher Heaven kindly, elderly Mr. Thompson was shaking his head sadly.

Once I became apprised of the actual problem, I hustled up to #440 to see if the residents were aware of the quadrillions of gallons of water that were escaping from their unit. My insistent doorbell ringing woke them up to their own watery surprise. They found the source of the deluge and shut off the water, but the damage had been done.

That's right. Water had sought its own level.

We called ServPro because they claim that "It's like it never even happened."

They showed up quickly and immediately started the drying process. For those of you who have never experienced water seeking you at your level, here is what is involved in the drying process:

They bring in 15 or 20 industrial strength fans and five or six gigantic dehumidifiers that are powerful enough to dehumidify Indonesia. They remove the baseboards, some walls, and a bunch of kitchen cabinets. Then they count to three and turn everything on. Then they leave them on for almost a week.

Unless you've served aboard an aircraft carrier, I doubt you've ever heard anything like the sound of ServPro making it like it never even happened. The roar of those fans and dehumidifiers combined with the loud whirring of our electric meter was completely deafening. It rendered any conversation Nan and I attempted completely useless, the lone benefit to the incident from Nan's perspective. We hunkered down for a week in her office, the only room that was spared damage, and waited for the fans and dehumidifiers to do their work. Little by little the hard-working pros from ServPro removed equipment as conditions allowed. The last of the stuff was taken out yesterday and Nan and I have resumed normal conversation.

All of the units affected suffered some damage in varying degrees. Insurance will cover a good chunk of the repairs, Soon it will be like it never even happened.

And we can all go back to our normal daily activities. In view of this experience, TLOTH and I have decided to add a weekly helpful science lesson to our routine.

Next week: The Theory of Relativity.

Ain't life grand.