"Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain; Telling me just what a fool I've been"

I answer the phone with a dreary voice that sounds foreign even to me. He introduces himself and gives me his history. Then, he asks what has happened and I explain the situation in a monotone speech. It’s not my first nor last time telling this story of excessive water that spontaneously appears in the basement after a heavy rain. No, it hasn’t always happened. Yes, it started in July. Yes, we removed the beautiful wall-to-wall carpeting. Yes, that helped but didn’t solve the problem. Expletives escape as I mention how many times we’ve cleaned up the water, scrubbed the area with a bleach solution or all-purpose cleaner only to have water return. Yes, we know it’s coming up from the cracks in the basement. Yes, we’ve nicknamed the largest crack “The Mississippi.” No, I don’t know exactly how much water but we do have two shop vacuums, four fans, and a dehumidifier working overtime to alleviate the problem.

I feel life drain from my soul with each sentence and tears not far from bolting. When I reach the end of my literal sob story, I plead for help.

Without a pause for reflection, he answers simply and quickly. “Sound like you need a perimeter drain with a sump pump. But,” as he continues, his inflection changes. “I don’t know how much water you’re actually getting.”

His tone implies a foolishness on my part. A stupidity. A little girl overacting to a “little” harmless water. Maybe I just needed a sponge or a towel.

He tells me of his twenty years of experience working in basements. It was his father’s business before his. He adds his own basement floods and it’s only fourteen gallons, one fill of a shop vac. He’s not going to fix his issue, maybe I don’t need to be fixing mine. After all, this repair is very expensive. He’s careful to speak slower and enunciate “very” as if he’s telling me to get a grownup, preferably my daddy, because I clearly won’t understand what he’s saying.

My patience is wearing thin. I know what I’m asking. No, I don’t want to spend thousands to repair my basement problem, but it’s exactly that – a problem. It won’t go away by ignoring it. I know and have accepted this will be expensive. And, no, I don’t know how much water we’re cleaning up, but I do know it’s not just an inconvenience.

I sigh. I ask for an estimate based on his recommendation and mention I don’t ever want to see water in my basement again.

For what seems like the umpteenth time, he overly articulates the foolishness of my request and repeats this is very expensive. Begrudgingly, as if annoyed, he finally gives me a number.

I pause to write it down.

“Did you hear me?” he asks.

“Yes. Ballpark is ten grand for a perimeter drain with sump pump. And, which company are you with again?”

“Great,” I reply with a sarcastic undertone, making a mental note not to use him.