Learning to Bathe.

Our hotel has a bathtub, and a shower. Two things that I should be familiar with.

The first evening we were here I wanted to have a shower. I smelled like airport, and that is never good. The tub only had half of a glass shower curtain, but I figured that would be enough to cover the splash back. I got in, turned on the water, and the shower head windmilled around in it’s socket, soaking me, the wall, the roof, the glass, the floor and me again with each spin. After the shock subsided, I turned off the sprinkler, dried the walls, roof and floor and went back to bed.

I didn’t smell that bad.

The next morning I knew better than to attempt a shower. The socket that held the head was too loose to be of use, and I didn’t want to douse the bathroom again.

Instead, I opted for the safer option – the bath. I hadn’t had a bath in years, but I still knew the basics, so I started to fill the tub. As there is no way to set our bathtub to shoot water from exclusively one pipe – it’s both or nothin – I decided to wait until the tub was partially full, then set the shower head carefully at the bottom of the tub where it should shoot water back into the tub. I then left to make a pot of coffee. Coffee takes precedence over cleanliness when one has jet lag.

Two minutes later I stepped into a puddle in my bathroom. Over an inch deep and racing towards my sleeping wife. Panic would normally have set in instantly, but I was puzzled by something else. There was water coming from the roof – like a giant rain storm. It didn’t rain in the bathroom in North America. At least, not since that first apartment on Jervis in Vancouver. But that place was special. I started to think that if the water on the floor came from the rain from the roof, then there was no way that I could have done this, and therefore no way Sarah could be angry.

I was twice wrong.

Upon further inspection, the shower head had flipped around like an angry snake, and was now pointed at the roof. Very little water had actually made it into the bathtub , and I now had more water around my ankles standing outside than in.

Turning off the water, I ran back out into the bedroom. There was no escape at this point, the water had already made it half way across the floor and was moving faster every minute. Waking Sarah up I muttered something about a plumbing problem and tossed her a towel.

It took us nearly 30 minutes and all of our towels to mop up the damage. I’m still certain that some of the water drained out into the building somewhere, but I have no idea where. Obviously there are no guests in that part of the hotel, or I would have gotten a bill from the hotel that evening instead of a box of chocolates.

On the third day, I pulled a chair into our bathroom, and sat there holding the shower head while filling the bathtub from a small distance away. This method seems to work.

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