I still have no water. And there is no way to know when service will be restored.
It's been that kind of day.
A coworker who supplies me with the information for the quarterly employment tax returns gave it to me at the last minute, as always. Not only last minute, but wrong.
My boss is doing his usual day-before-the-board-meeting insanity. I don't mind answering questions (again) on things we discussed and settled months ago, but I do rather wish he would compile the questions and come to me once, rather than running in to my office every fifteen minutes.
I did leave work half an hour early, in spite of everything. This is the day of my monthly quilt class, and I needed to get home, change clothes and get the sewing stuff in the car and make the forty-five minute drive out to the quilt shop to be there and set up before six.
Got home, went to wet a washcloth to wash my face...no water.
Well, a trickle of water, but that was it.
Thanks to having left work early, it was only three-thirty at this point. I could check things out a bit, yet still have time to call a plumber and make an appointment for tomorrow.
The check revealed no leaks or obvious issues, and a chance meeting with a neighbor while taking in the mail solved the issue. According to him, workers the next street over hit a water main. So, while I know why there is no water, I have no way of knowing when it will be restored.
Eh - I was going to be out all night anyway, right? I loaded the smaller of the sewing machine cases into the car, then pulled it out of the underground up to the end of the path, so I could go get the machine itself to load. The case, machine and various implements fit into a wonderful case - that is too heavy for me to carry up and down the steps to the underground parking. It's on wheels, so I take it out the front door, roll down the sidewalk and load it into the car in the parking lot.
Got to the front door, stuck my key in the lock...and it wouldn't turn. It's a funny deadbolt, with a small switch next to the bolt. In one position, the switch keeps the bolt from turning at all, even if you put a key in, or turn the knob. Apparently, while I thought I set it correctly, I automatically moved it back into position when I went inside after talking to the neighbor. I'd have to go back into the underground parking, up the steps, unlock the door, then reverse the process. Only then could I open the front door to get the sewing machine...
Note that while I love my neighbors, the sewing machine cost as much as my first car, and I'm not about to leave it on the path, alone, for even the two minutes it would take to go get the car.
At this point, I'd had it. It was hot, the A/C would not be on in the classroom at the quilt place, I was tired and grumpy before I started this whole thing. I called the quilt place and said I wouldn't be there.
So now I'm one for four on that class.
I took myself out to dinner, eating too much (after more than two weeks of eating very well) and having dessert on top of it out of frustration. Back home before five-thirty, and still no water.
Only now I have an upset stomach.
Shoot me now.