Water

“Turn it off! Turn it off!”

This was me yelling from the stairway while water rained down on my head from the ceiling. Crap.

We were just testing the system to make sure there were no leaks.
Ha.

When PC first turned on the main valve, putting pressure to the old system that hadn’t seen water in a while (At least a winter of freezing weather. Or two. Yikes.), the usual hissing-charging sound echoed through the first floor; even with all the dentist office divider walls still up, the sound reverberated through the ceiling tile.

First, I ran around the first floor to all the sinks -every little room had one- and turned off faucets. If the faucets kept running, I reached under and turned off the valves. Whoever did the plumbing 40 years ago for the dentist office had the foresight to take the time to put a shut off valve on every hot water line and every cold water line underneath every sink (thank you, who ever you are). There were several leaky (okay, really: uncontrolled pour-y) faucets, and though I was scared to trust the shut-off valves, there was only one that did not do its job. Not too bad for 40 years worth of sitting there and waiting to be called into duty. With PC's help, this only took a couple of minutes, but with that hissing (potentially leaking or pouring) sound coming from over our heads, it felt much longer.

Everything was off downstairs, but the overhead sound didn't slow. If anything, it was louder. I headed out to the used-to-be-the-reception-area and through the first doorway, intent on making the next turn and running up the steps (22 of them, remember?) to see what I could turn off up there. It was that momentum that kept me going, not even noticing the little waterfall that had started down the bottom few steps until I was right in the garden-hose-with-good-pressure-sized stream pouring on my head. Crap.

I had to back down out of the stairwell and yell down the hallway before I heard the pipe-clunking that I knew meant it was off. I went back to the stairs and squished myself against the wall to avoid the slackening downpour. I had a passing thought about the usefulness of the blue rubber ridged anti-slip stairtreads that were tacked to each riser, and how, hopefully, some day when most things work, I'd be able to remove them and refinish the old wood.....

It was the toilet. It had been dry for so long that the gasket between the tank and bowl rotted (How does a toilet get this black with no water in it? I tried not to think about it.); water was still seeping from beneath the tank and tracing the porcelain in a thin line to the carpet.

***Allow me to pause here to opine the carpet*** (Wait a second - am I even using that word right? Opine? It just popped into my head....going to look it up..... Alright, it's a verb, but it doesn't give an example of how to use it. It means to harangue, preach, orate, or lecture. Which is fine, but I don't want to direct this lecture to the carpet; I want to harangue (criticize, tirade)about the carpet. I'll leave it like it is, but I'm open to grammatical correction.)
Back to opining: You'd think it would've just been the same as the rest of the blue commercial-grade carpet (minus the padding), but no, it's in a category all its own. I vaguely remember stuff like this from childhood, but I'm not sure if it was ever popular. Maybe, but if so, it was popular for just a few people (ha.). Or maybe for just a very short time. Like, until the people who liked it regained their senses.
It's blue and green and shaggy. Need I say more?

Enough about the carpet. All the stuff on the second floor stays just like it is (minus the leaks. and the refrigerator.) until after the first floor is up and running as the 123 Coffee House and the third floor has been redone so I can move my office up there without plaster falling on my head.

Water. Yes. Water. Bottom line: the toilet leaked. Badly. I tore it apart and got the repair parts and put some of it back togehter, but I will have to say (and Thank You) that PC, though much bigger than myself, crammed himself into that little bathroom to reset the tank and bolt everything down. After the carpet dried out (Shag carpet doesn't take as long as I thought to dry out. Synthetic fibers, probably.), of course.
Once the water worked, the black came off (and out), but I'll spare you the details.

It took three (?) more turn-on-the-water attempts before I didn't have to yell "Turn it off!" any more. Now, the bathroom works just fine. As long as you don't want hot water. The tiny kitchen sink is still on the to-do list (Tiny kitchen. Not tiny sink. Though it only has one bowl, the bowl is large. And it was black. But now it's white. Oh, right...sparing the details...).

It’s been almost two months since we first turned on the water, but I thought it deserved mention. I suppose I can't complain too much; if I were 117 years old, I'd probably have a few leaks, too.

All the utulities will get their post (we've touched on the electric, and now water). Or two. Or three. Right now we're dealing with the gas lines. It may get more than three posts. Or four. I'll be sure to take pictures. Crap.