Look, we never get anything good in the mail these days, so my standards are quite low. But when I got a notice that I was getting a new gas meter, I became a tiny bit excited. I love new things.
I also love it when there’s actual follow through. So imagine my delight when there was a follow-up card informing me that the work had been done and there had been a temporary interruption to my gas supply. I wasn’t fazed, naturally. New gas meter, new me, etc.
What I failed to comprehend immediately was that I would have to relight the pilot light on my hot water system.
Now, I have been cursed with bad pilot light luck for years now. Back when I was renting, every time I moved into a new property, I would struggle to light the pilot light. Yes, Every. Damn. Time.
In one property, you had to lie prostrate on the ground with a spiky plant sticking into your nose in order to see if the pilot light had ignited. In another, the hot water system was about 12-feet off the ground, and I had to borrow a ladder from a new neighbour, and by “borrow” I mean “take without asking” because they weren’t home and I really needed a shower. There is nothing worse than not being able to have a hot shower at the end of moving day. Well, maybe a few things are worse. But not many.
In my current house, my relationship with my hot water system has been a little fragmented. If it was a movie, it would be called “Horrible Bosches” (I’m quite proud of that joke, shut up!). Once, the pilot light went out during a particularly nasty storm and the unit was so sodden that it could not be lit for love nor money. After a desperate call to a plumber who lived nearby (and happened to frequent the same dog park) and before I could say “hot bath” he took to my hot water system with what appeared to be an industrial flame thrower. It was a successful mission.
I’m not an idiot, by the way. I’ve googled videos on YouTube that detail how to light my pilot light like any sane person would. That’s why I know that there’s a lovely plumber from South Australia who has gone to the trouble of making a very helpful instructional video that stepped me through my lighting my particular model. Unfortunately, he also pointed out that if Step 3 doesn’t work, the unit needs servicing. And wouldn’t you know it, Step 3 didn’t work. Which wasn’t enormously helpful considering I waited until nightfall to do the relighting ceremony so I could see the little blue flame or absence thereof.
So, you might not be surprised to hear that it’s a bit tricky calling a plumber at 7pm on a weeknight for something that’s not exactly life-threatening. Besides, my plumber is on holidays overseas. Of course he is.
When I get up for work at 4am it’s awful enough, without the spectre of a cold shower on the horizon. I’m just going to go ahead and say it: I prefer a hot shower. I know. Weird.
Sure sliced bread is great, but instantaneous hot water is a bloody marvel. And I would know. As a kid, we had a wood hot water system in the corner of the bathroom, which meant a small fire had to be lit and you had to wait for the water to heat up before you could even think about having a shower. It also meant that my dad had to repeatedly hammer on the bathroom door if any of us were taking too long. What fun for the whole family.
Anyway, it’s surprising how quickly you can get ready if you’ve got no hot water. Your shower becomes VERY brief, and you get dressed speedily so hypothermia doesn’t set in. There’s no shaving of legs and no washing of hair. It is the barest of minimums followed by generous perfume application. You might smell OK, but I can attest to the fact that you’re a tad grumpier. Turns out a cold-water drenching is a major mood killer.
The experience did clarify one thing though. I would make a terrible trad wife (for many reasons, actually).