Not Noah

My elderly neighbor called early Thursday morning screaming and screaming. Her basement was flooding. Looked like the water heater, but wasn't sure how hers worked. Finally got it squared away. Got through to the company. They referred us to a plumber. We waited.

Thought I’d try to sweep the water down the floor drain. Then discovered theAnd it just kept a comin' floor drain had filled up. Time for a shop vac. But ours held only a gallon Was going out to buy a large shop vac as the other neighbor's wife didn't think they had. Called him at work. Found it. Figured out how to work it. Dragged the behemoth over.

And the water kept rising.

Mike said call the county water and sewer emergency number. By then a couple other people were there and everyone said no, the plumber is on his way. Wait. Plummer finally got there and snaked the drain hole. And snaked. But the "water" kept rising.

These neighbors have hundreds of cardboard boxes with tons of stuff organized, labled, then stored all along the perimeter of the house and in a storage room. Soaked. Family room, soaked. Piano, couch, tables, chairs. Soaked. The water continued to rise.

Plummer went out to the middle of the street and yanked off the manhole cover. Looked down. Stopped. Without turning the least, he slowly reached to his back pocket. He withdrew his tape measure and loosened it to feed it down into the manhole. I went over to see what he was looking at. Our reflections shimmered along the surface.

Finally, the tape hit bottom and he cast an eye at its numbers. "Hmmm," he said without a change in expression. "Six'n a half feet of water. In a ten foot man hole."

"How much is supposed to be there?" I asked.

"Nothing," he replied.

“Nothing? As in dry?”

He grunted. “This is a county problem. You need to call the county. The emergency number. But I don't have that.”

It wasn't water backing up into their house...