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Water Main
I got that pirougue out of my nephew's backyard and took it over to Rocheblave and now have better floating potential in a city below sea level surrounded by suspect levees. The demolition guys showed up that day and parked the large backhoe in my nephew's front yard, in preparation for the tear down later this week. Did they park right on top of the main water shutoff would become a question after I broke a pipe in the bathroom while trying to extricate the claw foot bathtub. "Your house is flooding," I told my nephew and his wife, who were smashing down water-swelled-shut doors with a little sledge hammer, to retrieve last mementos ("holy cow, I didn't know you guys went to Paris for your honeymoon," I said when they handed me a water dripping photo album documenting that fact). For about an hour we dug in the front yard for the water main. My nephew was sure about the location but it would not show up as he dug deeper and deeper. We did find a piece of the collar (ostensibly broken when debris removing bobcats traversed their property) and the lid, and yet still could not find the actual shutoff. The backhoe was parked very close and we contemplated tunneling under the treads to find that damn shutoff.
Today is the final day of my house sitting by the Fairgrounds and Ramona and I went on our last walk this morning and she deposited her poop by the Fairgrounds fence as I looked up the treasure lined street at--tree limbs, garbage bags, vacuum cleaners, lawn mowers, television sets, sheetrock, rotted framing lumber, shingles, car tires, broken bicycles, stereo equipment, stuffed animals, bricks, pots and pans, and furniture. And this is a neighborhood that did not flood that badly.
I would go into the bathroom periodically to give my nephew's wife an update about the water flooding her moldy, bombed out house which only four month's previous had stewed in eight feet of toxic, swirling, furniture-rearranging floodwater. "It appears to be draining out through the floor in the bathroom and is not spreading through the house much." She appeared to be in pretty good spirits about the whole thing but I wasn't absolutely sure about that so I never turned my back to her when she had the two-pound sledge hammer in her hand.
When it became obvious that the two so-called men in attendance were of no use whatsoever, we swallowed what little pride we still had and told her she would need to drive the neighborhood and be the damsel in distress to whomever she could find. She found an Entergy truck but they pertain to electrical and gas issues and although he was apparently sympathetic to her plight, he could not actually do anything. However, as all of us took turns digging, and postulating about the whereabouts of that shutoff valve, the man from Entergy came driving up the street and then went into the house with my nephew to have a looksee. He made my nephew go into the shooting fountain of water and try the shutoff by the tub, which I had already "turned off?" and rechecked once to make sure I had turned it in the right direction.
While they were in there I hit the main shutoff with the shovel blade and when apprised of this while coming out of the house leading my soaking wet nephew, the Entergy man said--"good timing." He had a couple of wrenches and did the turning, one wrench 90 degrees to the other, and stopped that flow of fresh cleansing water. Nephew and I loaded that clawfoot tub into my truck with the pirougue strapped on top and they followed me over to Rocheblave to unload and then took me over here to this neighborhood where I house sit and we ate at Liuzza's by the Race Track and had the best damn barbecued shrimp po-boy ever.