I am sitting here unshowered, unshaven, disheveled and certainly discombobulated.
We are in what is hopefully the final week of living in a trailer and after five weeks I do not think I could last another day.
I smell, I am sore and I am desperate need of my own bed.
Although there is a light at the end of the tunnel the trailer experience continued to regress last week.
When we first moved into the trailer, like any normal guy would, one of the first areas I checked was the commode to investigate the mechanism for getting material from point A to point B.
It did not take long and after a quick perusal of the situation I was not satisfied.
Then and there I made an executive decision — I would not be sitting down to do my best thinking in the trailer’s watercloset.
Therefore, over the past four weeks I have not used the washroom in the trailer for fear of causing a catastrophic back-up. A back-up I know I would not have a clue on how to rectify. Instead, I made stops at the office before bed and early morning runs to the gym (where I would shower anyway).
However, one evening last week I received the frantic text from my lovely wife outlining, in great detail, what she was looking at in the trailer’s lavatory.
Of course, I simply texted back, “Thanks for the play-by-play, but not my problem.”
In my ignorance, I suggested it was their problem. The girls in my family and/or their campfire guests had caused the toilet paper traffic jam and it was up to them to find a resolution.
My stand on the issue lasted all of an hour.
Later that night I found myself awkwardly holding the valve open with my foot, the toilet lid with one hand, while fumbling with the plunger with the other. It reminded me of the scene in “A Christmas Story” when the dad went to the basement and cussed his way through a furnace repair job.
When we both emerged we were frustrated, angry and covered in gunk. And of course, the issue unresolved.
I admit I am a horrible handy-man, but I tried everything I could think of short of tossing a cherry bomb down the chute. Although yelling “Fire in the hole!” would have been awesome.
So, as we head into the stretch run in the trailer we do so without a peecan. However, it has become a morning ritual each day to take a peek to see if the impending flood has receded. On the good news front it appears kicking it each day is having an impact as it seems to be draining.
So, as we enter the final week we have endured no heat, no toilet, minimal living space, fruit fly infestations and late night adventures to the unbelievable well camouflaged outhouse.
It has been a learning experience and certainly a Barlow team building exercise.
First, I cannot tell you how proud I am of my wife who has shared this experience with me without a fuss. This woman is not one to “rough it”, but she has been a good sport and deserves a spa day when this is all over.
Second, you understand your friends are critical in times of need. I know I have joked about this trailer experience, but without good friends willing to lend us a trailer, give us propane, help fix a furnace in the middle of the night we would have been in dire straits. We cannot thank you enough.
Lastly, I have earned new respect for those who have been displaced by the floods. While many have found refuge with friends and family or have returned to their homes, there are still hundreds living in their RV or in temporary housing.
With summer turning to fall I sincerely hope they can return to the comfort of their own homes as quickly as possible. For those who cannot, I hope you were able to laugh at my predicament and take comfort knowing the community has shown incredible generousity in the aftermath of the disaster and we will still be there for you.
