Water Hammer

Gadgets, not dogs, are a man’s best friend. Dogs happen to be the first gadget man discovered. So they fit nicely within this group. Gadgets make a man’s existence easier. Dogs have been taught to do things to ease the burdens of a man’s life: fetch this or that; sit; lay down; lick between his toes. All important activities.

I, being the typical male, like my gadgets too. I bought one I had never needed until we lived in our previous house. You see, during the spring and summer, there was always something in need of water. With any watering after dark, I’d have to grab the flashlight or just go stumbling in the dark through the flower bed to turn off the faucet.

One word why this bothered me: Copperhead. As in snake.

To alleviate this problem, I bought an automatic timer designed for watering. I could set it, turn on the water and have full confidence it would automatically turn off at the preselected time.

Ah, life was good.

There is a term in the plumbing industry, "water hammer". This occurs when a sudden stop in water flow happens - this is important to remember - such as when a dishwasher, or clothes washer, toilet or even just a faucet is turned off, creating a shock wave that travels down the water line, shocking the pipes and creating a very audible hammer noise.

One evening after purchasing the timer I had set it up to water until well after dark. The waterline it was attached to displayed symptoms akin to water hammer. When turned on slightly, this faucet would rattle, hum and sing like a plumbing supply ochestra. On more than one occasion, Seaworld called us saying we were making Shamu's eyes cross. It was that bad when it was just barely on. However, if you turned it wide open there was no problem. It was one of those things you put up with living in an older house.

Having extablished men like gadgets let me mention something else that's obvious. Men are spontaneous, reactionary, compulsive and protectors of our domain. Ladies, these are the things you really dig about us.

We protect our domain and you, being part of it, are protected too. Don’t get all feminist and hatchet-toting with me here. I am not saying you’re our property. You just happen to live on it, so we’re inclined to protect you. That’s all.

Our spontaneous side is seen when, out of nowhere, we’ll say something like, "Baby, I sure do love you a lot. How’s about going and getting me something cold from the fridge?" Ladies, you know we mean it with all our heart.

That compulsive side of us comes out when we tell you about the sweet card we know you'd have loved the we saw while buying our latest car magazines down at the drugstore.

Let me draw from my personal experience to describe a guy’s reactionary tendencies. Remember now, the timer has been set and in my mind, forgotten. Marilyn and I are watching TV on the love seat. Everything is as Ozzie-and-Harriet as it could be in our little part of suburbia.

Out of the clear blue came a loud bang from outside that made the actors on TV forget their lines momentarily.

I reacted.

Jumped straight up out of my seat and dashed outside looking for the young jerk who had been brazen enough to just - are you ready for this - attack my house with a baseball bat. You with me here, folk? In my perception of things, the sound I just heard caused me to think we were under imminent threat of life and limb by some ne’er-do-well swinging a baseball bat.

Why anybody in their right mind would have such an urge to do such a thing didn’t matter to me at the moment. We live in a strange world with an overabundance of strange people who do bizarre things. For all I knew, some methed-up crackhead saw my house as threatening and lashed out at it violently.

Here’s the problem with being a spontaneously compulsive reactionary. I had taken no more than three steps off my front porch when my mind pointed out the following to my body:

1. You think someone has attacked your house with, of all things, a baseball bat.
2. You, being the protector of your domain, are not going to let anybody get away with that.
3. Right now, you are testosterone-in-action. Hear you roar!
4. Dude, what are you going to do if you actually find someone out here with a ball bat? You didn’t bring jack to defend yourself with!

I quickly slowed my charge around the house.

On her face was a look that look said, "Am I ACTUALLY married to this?" as I sheepishly made my way back inside. She asked, "Weren’t you watering the lawn? Was the sprinkler still on?"

In those two simple questions, I found myself having a moment of insight. It was as if some sixth sense came over me and said, "Boy, you are dumber than a sack of hammers. Sit your tail down now and stop being so compulsively ignorant. If your momma saw you acting like this, she’d have cause to wonder whether you were actually hers or not."

If anyone knows where I can pick up a box of Common Sense, please let me know. I’d like to see how that gadget works.

© 2005 Michael Wicinski - revised 2006