Three years ago, my phone went off in the middle of the night. I looked and it was Katie, and I answered like any mom of a college student would: “Are you okay?”
She said, “I think so?”
It was almost a question, and I sat bolt upright in bed.
She said she had only just arrived home and heard this odd, high-pitched sound somewhere in the house. She suspected it was a carbon monoxide detector and didn’t know what to do. She had only been in the small rental home for less than a week.
I instructed her to go outside and call the non-emergency number for the town. One minute later, she texted: “Fire department’s coming.”
A couple of minutes later, my phone rang again. Before I could even say hello, I heard her giggling.
“It was a valve in the toilet!” she exclaimed between guffaws. “In the water tank — stuck and basically screaming.”
When the firemen got there, they also believed it was a carbon monoxide alarm initially. They checked the air, determined the levels were okay, and then walked around attempting to locate where the noise was coming from. Because the house was so little, it was not long before they determined it was in the bathroom. They assisted her in repairing it, and all was good.
She thanked them when she let them out the door. And this is my favorite part, even though I wasn’t there.
When the firefighters were departing, Katie said, “Thank you so much for coming,” and then, because she was brought up to always have guests have a drink, she panicked and thought about what she had to give them. She finally said:
“Hold on! Can I get you something? Such as a glass of water? Or … a White Claw?”
They appreciated her, declined the beverage, and departed laughing.