BUM RUSH THE BATHROOM. 9.30.06
At a friend's house yesterday, I noticed that they had in their shower a small, waterproof digital clock. This sent me into a vietnam-esque flashback, complete with post-traumatic stress disorder.
You see, my father was like many of your fathers- a product of a more frugal, less affluent family, who had to watch their expenditures at all times. Utilities such as water were to be used as necessary of course, but always with discretion. None of this "waiting for the water temperature to get comfortable"... that's crazy talk, fella.
For the most part, his family didn't even venture into the realm of shower-taking. Five people each taking their turn with continually running water? Inconceivable! Nope, instead it was a big vat of murky bathwater for all, and when everyone was done, they'd find some other use for the tub full of water before finally letting it drain.
Fast-forward to the 1990's: a young CWW, living free and easy on the heels of his parents' hard-earned money, decides he wants to enjoy a nice hot shower for ten or fifteen minutes every day, just because it feels good. Certainly this is some sort of joke, my dad thought. What human being takes unnecessary showers- using precious hot water- for up to a quarter-hour at a time? He simply wouldn't stand for that.
And so my dad installed a small LCD clock on the shower wall. "Six minutes", he said. "Six minutes to take your shower, and then you're done. Go any longer and I'll come in to turn the water off myself." Well, this seemed like a futile bit of legislation, seeing as he wouldn't have any idea when my shower actually started or ended. But he did. My father had ears like a hawk(assuming hawks have good ears... otherwise just replace hawk with whatever animal you fancy) and, unbeknownst to me, could hear the water pipes a'rumblin' at any time of the day. This fact became startlingly apparent the first shower after the clock was installed, because six minutes later, there was a loud rap on the bathroom door. And that was shower #1 in the era of the clock.
Shower #2 did not go as smoothly. I'd actually forgotten all about the shower timeframe regulation, and probably had the water going for a good nine minutes or so before my dad "interfered". He could've done the knock thing again after six minutes, sure... but he wasn't a "three-strikes-you're-out" kind of guy. Instead, he decided to make good on his word, and so he kicked the bathroom door open, tore back the shower curtain, and proceeded to turn the water off as I cringed in the corner having my own personal Crying Game session.
Shower #3, and all the rest for the next seven years, came in at a svelte five minutes. And when I finally went off to college at age 18, the very first item on my agenda was to go into the shower stall, turn the hot water on, go back and eat a few Pop Tarts®, then go back to the running shower and commence to basking in its glory until my entire body pruned up. Ah, sweet release.