I thought my husband, Jerod, had left an overnight diaper under the play mat, or in the crevasses of the rocking chair, or under the mattress. I washed the sheets and checked the dresser drawers. I told the babysitter I would pay her $20 extra if she found the source of the smell.
The smell started in late July.
A week after the smell started, the sound of water under the floorboards alerted us to impending doom. Jerod turned off the water to the house and called a plumber and our homeowner’s insurance company. I packed up the kids and took them to my parents’ house. If I had known it would be the last time I would see my house in tact, I would have taken a before picture.
Later that night my dad offered to go back to our house with Jerod to move furniture out of the room where we thought the plumber would be tearing up the floor the next day. Not wanting to make our problems his problems, we assured him Jerod could handle it, but my father insisted. At which point I knew it was not about the furniture, it was about the problem. My father fixes problems. He cannot let them fester overnight while waiting for water remediation to arrive.
When Jerod and dad arrived at my house that night, the floor was squishy—an adjective that is cause for panic when used to describe even the cheapest laminate flooring on earth, which ours was.
Sherlock and Watson pondered how our plumbing problem could be getting worse when the main waterline to the house was off, they followed the increasingly squishy floors and practically waded into my daughters’ closet where they solved the mystery. My dad made his way out of the twins’ room to the other side of the closet wall—the side of the wall where our air conditioner is housed.
I wasn’t there to witness the moment they realized that our air conditioner drain had clogged. The kill switch—designed specifically for the purpose of avoiding a flood when the line clogs—didn’t killl anything. And a third of our house was flooded. Dad shone a flashlight into a basin under the air conditioner overflowing with water and Jerod looked in with his eye wide and his jaw dropped.
It took nearly two weeks to dry the house, and another five weeks to repair it. Even with the help of homeowner’s insurance, the cost could have put our daughters through a year or two of private Montessori pre-school.
But I was ok. My family was ok. The floors had to be replaced anyway.
Yesterday, however, on the 8th of November of the year of our Lord 2022—mere weeks after we moved back into our renovated home–I am not ok. The extra powerful fans and dehumidifiers are back, desperately drying baseboards that were new just yesterday because our air conditioner drain clogged. The kill switch—designed specifically for the purpose of avoiding a flood when the line clogs—didn’t kill anything. And almost a third of our newly renovated house is wet.
After the First Great AC Flood of 2022, we called a reputable air conditioner repair company to clear the line and check the kill switch. The man who came out said the switch was not defective, it was just in the wrong spot; he adjusted it.
This same man was in my house on the night of November 7th of the year of our Lord 2022. He was matter-of-fact when he said he never tested the kill switch. He never checked if it was activated, but he had no remorse. This was not his fault. The company who installed the air conditioner five years ago is to blame. They didn’t activate it.
Maybe it’s the overwhelming distress I feel over throwing away money for repairs that didn’t repair anything, or maybe the deafening sounds of dehumidification are getting to me, but this feels dire. Is this the world we live in? Does no one have any responsibility for the way their negligence hurts people–or bankrupts them? It makes me wonder if maybe we’ve just complicated life too much? Maybe we should know how to fix and maintain our own air conditioners—or, if we can’t, we should live somewhere where we don’t need them. Maybe self-sufficiency is the only way not to be disenchanted with the world.
Self-sufficiency is not what we were made for, though. From the moment we are born, we need people. That’s not a weakness. It can be beautiful. When we collaborate and trust each other, we can teach other’s kids about science and language. I can cook a vegan meal and my husband can mow the lawn. The contractor can turn a construction zone into a beautiful home, and the air conditioner repair man can fix the damn air conditioner. But this doesn’t work if we don’t take ownership of our work, as evidenced by the damn air conditioner.
With two toddlers in the house, most days I’m more worried about survival than the long term success of my parenting. But today, in the wreckage that is my home, I know I want to raise daughters who take responsibility for the quality of the society they live in. I know I want to raise daughters who move through life knowing their words, their actions, and their mistakes can be damaging. I don’t want to raise my daughters to believe they can’t trust anyone to help them, but in this bankrupt world, it’s scary to let them trust anyone but me.
When we first noticed the water, I posted a message in our neighborhood’s Facebook group asking if anyone had fans to mitigate the damage while we waited for the professionals. We had eight neighbors offer giant floor fans and dehumidifiers. Eight people opened their doors for us last night and trusted us with their stuff. Eight people reminded me that there is so much goodness in the world, if we choose to see it. There are people willing to help resolve problems that aren’t even theirs.
So that’s nice, but I think I’m still out for the AC repair man’s blood.