My weekends are typically eventful, and this weekend was no different. Here's the first random snapshot from my weekend.
The Ill-Fated Man Episode II
Friday, 8:45 am: "BUZZ, BUZZ!" My phone went off as I peacefully sipped a steaming cup of coffee and read my Bible. Putting down my mug with a sigh, I picked it up.
"Hello, Elaine," came a familiar Australian voice over the phone.
"Hey, J.T.," I said, a little surprised at the early morning call, "what's up?"
"Err, " he began cheerfully, "I sort of have this problem and didn't want to wake Isaac or Joel."
I knew he'd stayed the previous night downstairs at their apartment and visions of possible mishaps filled my mind. Three boys in their mid-twenties could do any amount of damage when left alone. Busted windows from playing baseball in the living room? A lamp on fire from a candle left burning all night? J.T. did not let my wild imagination down, proving yet again that reality is crazier than fiction.
"I knocked the faucet out of the wall in the back bathroom and water's gushing out." He announced.
"Right," I said, "let me run down and tell the gate guards to shut the water off in your apartment, then I'll ring D. Rob. [the building superintendent]." I quickly pulled on a kameez and ran downstairs. The next ten minutes involved the water not being shut off, J.T. and myself getting soaked trying to plug the hole, and finally the guard, Suvash, creatively nailing a chunk of round wood into the hole and successfully ending the flow.
A repair man can't come for two days, so I'm praying the pipes don't burst from the back flow before then. But if they do burst, ten bucks says it's when J.T. happens to be in the room. He attracts these kinds of occurrences like a magnet.
"Hello, Elaine," came a familiar Australian voice over the phone.
"Hey, J.T.," I said, a little surprised at the early morning call, "what's up?"
"Err, " he began cheerfully, "I sort of have this problem and didn't want to wake Isaac or Joel."
I knew he'd stayed the previous night downstairs at their apartment and visions of possible mishaps filled my mind. Three boys in their mid-twenties could do any amount of damage when left alone. Busted windows from playing baseball in the living room? A lamp on fire from a candle left burning all night? J.T. did not let my wild imagination down, proving yet again that reality is crazier than fiction.
"I knocked the faucet out of the wall in the back bathroom and water's gushing out." He announced.
"Right," I said, "let me run down and tell the gate guards to shut the water off in your apartment, then I'll ring D. Rob. [the building superintendent]." I quickly pulled on a kameez and ran downstairs. The next ten minutes involved the water not being shut off, J.T. and myself getting soaked trying to plug the hole, and finally the guard, Suvash, creatively nailing a chunk of round wood into the hole and successfully ending the flow.
A repair man can't come for two days, so I'm praying the pipes don't burst from the back flow before then. But if they do burst, ten bucks says it's when J.T. happens to be in the room. He attracts these kinds of occurrences like a magnet.
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