270 More Days to Go

“Oh, f**k! Oh, f**k! Oh, f**k!”

“Turn the water off!”

“I can’t. Oh, f**k!”

Renu runs towards the faucet and turns it to the right — the way you’re supposed to turn off a faucet.

I’m drenched in water when the hot water faucet kept running while I loosen the hose for our new washer.

A couple of installers from Pacific Sales came by this morning to deliver our new Whirlpool washer.

One of the men attempts to connect the hoses to the faucets, at first confused which one is for hot water and which one is for cold when water starts pouring on the floor.

“The faucets are leaking.”

How can they leak when they haven’t been turned on in a while? I thought to myself.

I didn’t argue because I see water all over our kitchen floor now.

He leaves the machine uninstalled.

“You need to replace the water faucets. They’re 6-dollars a piece at Home Depot,” he says to me.

We call our landlord, he stops by at lunch time, connects the hoses, and voila! No leaks.

“I hope you weren’t charged for this installation. Whoever that guy was, he didn’t know what he’s talking about. He probably doesn’t know you must flush the water out,” Harry said.

“Probably not,” I said.

Harry sits down for lunch with us. We offer him carbonara – the same food I f***ed the day before.

“Is it too salty? Is it okay?” I ask Harry.

“I need sodium,” he said, not really answering my question.


“Yeah. My doctor tells me I need more sodium because my blood pressure is too low.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard of a doctor recommending more sodium to someone.

I grew up in the Philippines where everyone around me is asked to take it slow on salty foods.

Harry is 73 years old, an active handyman/landlord who seems to love what he does.

Harry leaves our apartment. We thank him for his help.

“I work for food. I guess we’ll call it even,” he said.

Nine hours later, I am switching the hoses behind the washer and while I successfully turned off the faucet to the cold water before connecting the correct hose, I panicked while removing the other.



It keeps playing in my head but when water sprays all over, the floor, the walls, the spices, the ceiling, my brain is screaming, “Where’s the shut off valve? Where’s the shut off valve?”

Sure, now, I decide to find the shut off valve to the hot water faucet when the cold water turned off without problems.

Thankfully, my partner in crime and my assistant to when I decide to shower in the kitchen comes to the rescue and righty-tighty she went.

270 days from now, we’re moving out of this apartment.

It isn’t because I power washed the kitchen today.

It’s not the quirkiest but it’s time to move on.