Monday, September 14th, 2020

I can’t turn off the water to my shower. There’s one simple faucet. The water runs from it into a heater near the ceiling, then out again. I had known that the faucet would fail sometime but didn’t know when. While the water turns on easily, part of the faucet has been coming loose. It’s been getting harder to push in on it clockwise so that it moves whatever doohickey inside actually controls the water flow. Now it does nothing. I put all of my weight into it. It doesn’t help. I think about telling my landlady. In the year and a half that I’ve been here, I’ve never complained to her about anything. I don’t want to break that streak, but I can’t let it run all day. I put on some clothes and pick up the phone to text her. I pause and put the phone down. As far as I know, she hasn’t been in here since I’ve moved in. It’s a mess. I do a quick clean up in the kitchen, sweeping up the dead bugs in the corners and wiping down the counters. A tiny lizard darts past my broom as I sweep. I let it run free. I type the text to her into my phone’s translator. I have to do one fix: by default, it chooses masculine forms for the words addressing her. I send the text, along with a photo of the faucet. My phone rings almost immediately. It’s her. I go to my kitchen door and open it to get a better phone signal. She’s sitting at the top of her steps, which zigzag up from mine. No need for the phone, then. I describe to her what’s happening. I demonstrate the connection within the faucet with hand gestures, trying not to make them look obscene. She understands. She turns off the water leading to the apartment. Her husband will be home in half an hour. He’ll fix it. I can go off to work if I’d like. I do. I get a text from her a couple of hours later. The faucet is repaired. I thank her. When I get home, I see a pair of gleaming new faucets in the shower. The one that I use works beautifully. I’ve never figured out what the other one is for. Someday, I’ll have to ask.