"The Beast" is the name I gave to this "thing" in our kitchen when we moved in 4 months ago. It's called a "chaudiere", which essentially means hot-water heater. This piece of "equipment" is mounted on the wall in our kitchen, above the counter, and makes me feel like it's 1942 and I'm part of the French resistance or something.
The chaudiere is responsible for heating our hot water. Our hot water, in turn, is responsible for our heating in the apt - not an issue at the moment, as it is 27° celcius. However, hot water is one of those things, like electricity, that you take for granted until you don't have it anymore.
Guess what, I don't have it anymore. Friday late evening, we thought it was a fluke and forgot about it. Saturday morning, the problem presented itself for real. This was in the middle of Thomas doing a handyman project, involving drilling into the wall to mount a TV up high (remember, devoted readers, how I mentioned the BIG EVENT - i.e. World Cup which starts Friday?).... Is this the time when I should mention that in his fervor he drilled right thru the wall and into the other room of our apt? We can see clear thru now from one room to another. It's kind of like French voyeurism, except it's like peeping in on..............yourself.
Anyway, after ruling out that he didn't pierce a hold thru a pipe, and these 2 events were unbelievably but completely unrelated, and several fervent calls to our landlord, it was determined that something was up with The Beast. I call it The Beast because when you turn on any faucet in the apt for hot water, the gas flame which heats the water inside the beast fires up, time after time, and it sounds like there is a wild animal hiding out in my kitchen. Kind of like Cujo licking his chops. A bit disconcerning. It's like someone in the next room is watching a Stephen King movie 24/7.
No worries, let's just get out our maintenance contract for The Beast, which we have with "Electrogaz" (see very modern and professional photo above) - Electrogaz so conveniently located outside our front door (literally, I can spit on it front my balcony, which, incidentally, I have done several times over the past 96 hours). But, they are closed on Saturdays and Sundays. And, just our luck, Monday too, since it was Pentecost - you know, the 4th national holiday in France in the past 5 weeks, Pentecost, a day off for all these ardent practicing Catholics in France (right).
Again, no worries, there's a number for emergency calls during off-hours when you have a contract with Electrogaz. So we call, and --- it's an automatic service, which automatically links you back to the answering machine in the store. Literally, I stood in front of the closed store calling them on my cell phone and heard thru the glass window my own irrated voice echoing in the empty dark store on their answering machine.
Several boiled pots of water, sponge baths and showering at a friend's place later, it is now Tuesday morning. The French have woken up after their 4th 3-day wkend in 5 weeks, and Electrogaz, as I see from my balcony, is bustling with workmen standing outside smoking and eating croissants (remember the bakery below the balcony?)
My diligent French husband locked me in the apt just now and went over there to arrange for someone to come, saying to me "Do not begeeen to crier (this means "scream" in French) bad zings at dem from dee balcony, Julie. You be good." As if!
Pray that The Beast is resurrected. I see now why people love their dogs so much. That familiar growling sound is, almost, comforting.
