The Electric-cide

(This post is dedicated to my sole (blog) follower, recently acquired. As I don't know whether or not they would like to have their name made public, or if the shame would be overwhelming, they shall remain nameless (well, no, they have a name, and, to my knowledge, have had one for quite some time, but I shall not broadcast that name using this high-powered broadcasting forum at this time.))...)(?)

Well, that’s it. It’s found me. The pipeline electricity has found me, and it’s once again intent on killing me.

(As loyal readers have no doubt realized, this is in reference to my June 17, 2009 post, "Shockingly Clean." (You may expect me to mention my follower here, but, to my knowledge, they've only read 1.08 posts, so...they probably wouldn't get the reference. Still, a follower's a follower...))

Over the past week, I noticed my water tank being depleted more quickly than usual. Then I realised that, at least at certain times (it’s still unclear to me exactly what was going on), the at-best-serviceable water heater was evacuating itself of water through what I assume is its water-evacuation tube.

To remedy this, I turned off the water to the heater.

This left me without warm water.

It’s Bombay, but still.

So I turned it back on and plugged the water-evacuation tube with my thumb. I felt a slight pulsation. Whenever my finger, which had a small cut on it, happened to pass beneath this stream of water, it stung like the Dickinson (not as bad as the Dickens, but still). I compared this to putting my finger under a different stream of water – an action which caused no pain whatsoever.

Curious, I thought.

I wondered if perhaps the water heater had discovered a way to make lemonade.

But then I remembered the pulsating sensation my thumb had felt.

Lemonade, to my knowledge, does not pulsate.

Regardless, my intent had been to check if the tube could be plugged, thereby returning the functioning of the water heater to its previous glory. The verdict was innocent.

Or guilty.

Whichever correlates to “no.”

Later on, I figured I’d check if the water coming out of the water-evacuation tube was hot. I took the cup I use to pour the water from my bathing bucket onto myself for bathing purposes, and, as best I could, put it under the stream of water being evacuated from the water heater.

I checked the collected water and determined that it was, indeed, warm.

The problem, however, was that the evacuation tube is directly above a short, sturdy, larger tube that connects the water heater to the wall. Thus, the evacuated water falls directly onto this larger tube, dispersing it and making it difficult to catch in my cup. But that larger tube is so close to the evacuation tube that it’s nigh impossible to put the cup between it and the evac. tube.

However, this morning I tried it once again, just because cold showers will motivate one to go to certain lengths. That’s when I felt the pulsation again, stronger this time.

And that’s when I realised it had found me. That Bombay bathroom-centric electricity that is intent on being the agent of my demise.