I get up Saturday morning to find the TV isn't working. The kids can't watch cartoons, and more importantly, *I* can't watch cartoons either. I quickly find that I can't get online either, so I call Verizon.
Verizon tells me to go look at the router box, which I hadn't realized I owned one of. Eventually, after some cajoling, I found the thing in the garage, which was literally up to my ankles in water. "I think I found the problem," I told the guy, and said I'd call him back.
I lied. I never called him back.
The multi-plug dealie was under water, and its fuse had blown. I unpluged it, and made sure all the electrical stuff in there was well above the waterline, then found the leak and shut off the water. Of course we're Americans, so our garage is full of crap in boxes and piles, and not cars, all of which is now swimming.
We call the plumber, we call a handyman, both say they'll be right over. The Republispouse runs to the bank to get some cash to pay these guys with. I've got a bad back and a not-terribly-good front, so there's not much I can do in the meantime, so I just sit around waiting for the cavalry to come.
About a half hour later, the wife calls: "There's been a gas leak by the [only] entrance to our subdivision, and the police and rescue teams aren't letting anyone in or out. They say it's going to take most of the day to fix."
Then the phone stopped working.
Just to recap: No cartoons, no TV, no internet, no water, no phones.
The twenty-first century: who knew?
Obviously, I was eventually able to half-ass a solution to all of these problems (ALWAYS keep some hose-clamps on hand!) and then the reinforcements came and fixed it all, but jeez, what a weekend. It was filled with me randomly shifting between profanity and hebephrenic laughter and wondering which particular pagan god I'd pissed off.
So, really, pretty much like a normal weekend now that I think about it, only with more property damage.
Not that I'm complaining, mind you, I just thought it was kinda' funny, truth be told. Thought I'd share.