So Mom and I get home from services and a quick stop at the supermarket. We put in a load of laundry so Mom can go home with all clean clothes. She has some lunch, I’m on the phone, and all of a sudden Mom is yelling from the kitchen, “There’s water all over the floor!”
For the third time since I’ve moved in, my washing machine caused a flood. The first two times, the outside drain was backed up. This time, it was the hose that leads from the washer to the drain. So the flood didn’t come out of my hot-water heater closet. It came straight out from the washer, and flooded the kitchen floor in half an inch of water.
One outraged call to the management company later, I’m mopping water directly from the floor to the sink. By the time Maintenance Guy gets here, there’s almost nothing left, but he finishes up with a Shopvac. I may wind up having to buy one of those after all.
Now I have a load of soaking wet, dirty towels to wash. Joy.
I was in a good mood until the kitchen flooded.
Sigh.
I feel your pain (to quote someone). My basement is the lowest point on the block. Quite apart from my own washer leaks, if the City’s sewer line backs up (about once a year; it’s an old neighbourhood with lots of tree roots) guess who’s the canary in the coal mine?
On that note, L’Shana Tovah….