Epic.

It was a cold and dreary day. At least inside it was. Outside everything is ridiculously colorful and flowery and, I suppose, obnoxious if you have allergies. I've discovered that dancing can very quickly lead to sore feet and such. And that cramming a semester's worth of a course into seven weeks... means a lot of homework all at once. And so, come Friday night, I am exhausted. Physically and mentally.

And the week was over. A sigh of relief. A smile. A shout to Rachelle that I was done with the week... and the celebration is on. Wendy's run! Jackie was in Arizona, and Ingrid had run off to Park City (that's where her family lives). So it was just us two. I got my usual (junior bacon cheeseburger, two five-piece nuggets, both with honey mustard sauce, and water) and Rachelle got fries and a Frosty. We didn't talk about much as we sat in the restaurant and ate, because there was entertainment. A bunch of freshman girls had kidnapped some other freshman girl for her birthday. Birthday girl was blindfolded. So here, Rachelle's fries served as a sort of make-shift popcorn and we just watched the birthday girl's friends make her shriek. Once the food was gone, and our ears could take no more shrieks... we went home again.

Well, after the end of a long day, it is quite a natural inclination to want a hot shower. Rachelle dashed to the bathroom... and turned on the shower...

Shriek.

"IT'S FREEZING!"

I'm too tired to think about it.

Cold water... happens all the time doesn't it? Well, it never did at Heritage (at least when I was in Robison). Last time I had to deal with cold water was when I lived in Arizona. And when that happened I'd just go out into the garage and turn on the hot water heater again.

Rachelle, though, was furious. "RACHELLE IS A FREAKIN' GREASEBALL! GAAH!"

At this I go check it out myself. Sure enough, the water was freezing. In fact, I'd reckon it was darn close to turning to solid ice cubes. Ugggh.

Rachelle got her jacket on, and said, "Come on, Jenna. Let's go turn in a work order. Our shower is BROKEN!"

..."Broken? The shower works fine..."

"366 DOESN'T HAVE HOT WATER!" Rachelle broke into mumbles... "no hot water... ... ... greaseball.... ... ... work order..."

...I don't think she was very happy. I followed her, all the time not quite sure what to do when the hot water went out, but fairly certain that turning in a work order was the wrong thing to do. We went into the office, which was dark and empty. Rachelle tore off a work order. But there was no pen. And then I had an epiphany.

"Rachelle. Don't turn in a work order. They can't fix it."

"What?"

"We haven't paid for gas. The gas was turned off."

"No way! They wouldn't just turn off the gas! They'd tell us first!"

I blinked. Now that's a theory on gas companies I'd never heard before. "No... I'm fairly certain they'd just turn it off."

"No! That's indecent! That's rude! That's inhuman! They wouldn't turn it off!"

... "Yes, Rachelle. They would." Rachelle didn't believe me. In the slightest. All right. New tactic. I looked around. There was a little yellow paper with teeny print on it. There was a section entitled, Utilities. In desperation, I read it. And found something to use to persuade Rachelle to my side and stop her from making a fool of herself. "Read that," I said, pointing. She read aloud... "Remember to sign up for gas and electricity in one of your names lest the service suddenly go out one day when a former tenant decides to reclaim their deposit..."

"See? They would just shut it off!"

"No! That doesn't make sense! Why would they do that?"

"... Well, if someone cancelled a contract, they'd automatically assume that no one was living there anymore, right? So, it would definitely be more efficient to just shut off the service." Finally Rachelle believed me.

"Oh no..." she said.

So we called the gas company. And sadly... we missed the office hours. Just barely. The computer lady on the other line said... "Please call back during office hours, Monday through Friday, 8:30am to 11pm..." At that our hearts sank. We'd have to wait until MONDAY? Three whole days with cold water?

Well, after that, we all dashed to our computers. Surely the gas company would have a website we could sign up for service on...

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!" we both yelled simultaneously. The wireless... was not working. At all. No. No way. I started to think. I want hot water. There's wireless up on campus... I could lug my computer up to campus... except there's Rape Hill. Bad idea for a girl to climb Rape Hill at midnight all by her lonesome.

"JENNA!" Rachelle was yelling from her bedroom. "WANNA CLIMB RAPE HILL WITH ME?"

"YES!" I yelled back. Rachelle grabbed her computer. I grabbed my wallet. And we set off up the hill. We sat down as soon as we got in range of the wireless internet, and then we found the site for the gas company. I immediately set to putting the gas account in my name, and then I hit submit. And then there was dreadful news on the next page.

"Please allow three business days for the gas service to be activated."

No. No no no no no. Rachelle and I looked at each other. No hot water until WEDNESDAY?

We walked back down Rape Hill dejectedly. Rachelle said, almost in a whimper, "How could this happen to us? We are the sweetest girls ever!"

I nodded. I didn't say much. It really was our fault. We were so busy concentrating on school that none of us actually remembered to sign up for utilities. It was on the to-do list, yes. But we never did it.

I sighed as we went down the hill. We got home and climbed into our respective beds dejectedly. And dreamt of hot showers.

Day two.

Situation worse than originally thought. Whole house is cold. Dishes prove a difficult task. Nothing dissolves in cold water. Hands are ice cubes. Showers torture. Thick, long hair proves to be disadvantage. Shampoo solidifies in cold water. Shampoo refuses to leave hair and scalp alone. Rinsing is evil. Bald would be good. No hair. No shampoo. Soap up. Rinse off. Done. But no. Long hair. Long, thick, cold, soapy hair. Gave up on hair. Was freezing for an hour afterward. All in all, survival occured.

Day three.

Still alive. We are the greaseball girls. Tried to wash hair. Dried it. Disaster occured. There was shampoo still in it. Braided hair to hide the strange texture.

Day four.

Too cold to report. Except we live.

Day five.

Situation desperate. Commandeered neighbor's bathroom. Hot water is glory. But house still cold. Daily function difficult.

And then we got home on Tuesday night to find that the gas had been turned on, but we had to have someone qualified turn on the water heater or something. Gaah. So we went and knocked on our landlord's door. And pleaded our case. He came and turned it on. And balance was restored. Life resumed its natural course. And we celebrated. Chocolate goodies (butterscotch brownies, fudge, chocolate crinkles, and of course, a chocolate creme pie -- two of thirty!) had flowed out of our kitchen like mad in a sad attempt to restore warmth and comfort to our lives. Now the small amount that was left was celebratory in nature. We ate the remaining chocolate and continued in our normal lives.