Swimming in Sewage

Nothing brings a family together more than a time of crisis.

Well. Maybe not my family.

Couple Fridays ago, I got a call from my mom.

"Something terrible's happened. My apartment's flooded."

Naturally, I thought it was case of Negative Nelliness, a curious illness my mom's prone to. Sure, Kansas City'd been struck by horrific storms the previous night, Noah's Ark worthy floods. (The weather forecast had called for "a slight chance of rain."). But my mom's a "Drama Mama."

Except this time she hadn't exaggerated. If anything, the situation was far worse. Everything was soaking wet, half her stuff destroyed. Cars were playing bumper pool in the parking lot. The entire lower level of the apartment complex had been devastated. Not just by the rains, either; sewage had backed up.

I know, right?

We had to move fast. My brother, his wife and I packed all her crap up and moved her into a new apartment in three days.

The moving task seemed endless. How many boxes of back-breaking China does someone need anyway? Mom continued to offer China out like it was candy. I declined (as did everyone else). She lamented that today's youth just don't care for China. I kinda think that goes for everyone under the age of 80.

Anyway, the last day of moving got off to a bad start. A team of smarmy insurance people dropped by, said they wouldn't pay for any of Mom's personal loss. Just the apartment's structural damage. I raged, ranted, chased them down the sidewalk. Hulk smash!

Which just primed me for the main event to come later with my family. Tempers boiled, voices rose into screams, and curses were flung. Making sure Mom's new neighbors got a good first impression. We were three folding chairs shy of a full-fledged Springer show. Wallowing in sewage for three days has a way of doing that to people, I guess. Family togetherness.

Mom's now farther away from me than she was before. Waaay out South. She just called, said she can't operate the TV.

Gotta run. Another emergency crisis.