Skip to main content

My Wombie the Water Superintendent

Go turn the faucet on for a cool drink after a workout and then take a shower.  As if by magic, water always comes out.  It tastes different from town to town and the water bills seem to keep going up, but for the most part, we take it all pretty much for granted.  

What we don't appreciate is the labyrinth of piping that lies underneath almost everywhere you walk in town.  The water tower that has your town's name on it is always there but you've never seen in it or under it, or how it even works.  It's one of those things we refer to as 'hidden in plain sight.' 

While back I had the pleasure to ride with my twin brother, Mark  (Wombie) on his daily circuit to stations in Aledo, Seaton and Joy to do whatever it is water people do.  It was quite an education.  Mark and his #2 man, Travis, make sure you get that drink and shower after the workout.  



One of the towers in Aledo.  And, yes, that tower is filled with water, pumped from wells clear down between Keithsburg and Joy.  


Wombie doing some calculating.  This is the East End station in Seaton.  There is another station at the tower down there.  This station is being phased out.  Winner of the Rural Water Operator of the Year award a couple years ago, the Wombie may not have got my brains or good looks, but he certainly wins in number of years working.  



The next few pictures are the Joy station which is the nerve center for the water in Aledo.  Looking like The China Syndrome, this was a pretty cool place with all kinds of gadgets, switches, toggles and buttons.  It was all I could do to restrain myself.


This is all computerized, of course.  Mark has a computer at home that displays all of the pumps and lines and gives him a complete idea of how the system is running.  Of course watching the Wombie at the computer was a lot like watching a monkey try to pry open a rock.   



Those three dark blue canisters are the pumps that feed Aledo.  The time, work and manpower that insures your drink of water is somewhat staggering.  What you don't see is the lab work being done every day, the metering, the fixing of broken lines five feet in the ground,  the traveling to inspect substations,  replacing rusty valves, and all the other stuff.  


Mark and Travis are on call each and every day to make sure you guys get good water.  They make their daily runs while you are flipping your flapjacks and mixing water with Country Time powder to make a good lemonade drink for your picnic.  And during that picnic, they may get called away from what they are doing to check a break and have to start digging to fix whatever is broken.  Next time you see your water guy, maybe say thanks instead of joking about the rust or bitching about the bill.  

(OK, Wombie.  I did what you told me to do.  I padded what you guys do and now they think you are gods.  Good enough?  Now give me some more of those M & M's.)



How many of us have our names on a permanent plaque in public view?  Notice the 10th name down on the right?  Yep, my brother the important city worker.  I'm pretty darn proud of him. I don't know how to finish this post, so I'll just end it by a couple of water jokes.  

Hey Mark, how do you make Holy water?  Boil the Hell out of it.

Hey Mark,  what did the sink say to the faucet?  You're a real drip. 

Hey Mark, what do light beer and sex in a canoe have in common?  They're both fucking close to water.   


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Summer Swim

It's Monday and the start of another work week.  Except for me.  I have the week off because the parents of my daycare charges are taking the week off, too. This is one of those wordless posts I love on Mondays so I can put my laziness in full view of loyal readers.  These pics need no words.  Why muddy the waters?   They were taken at the pool at Sinkhole Estates aka Death Valley.  The nice thing about this pool is it is heated in winter.  If one must find positives in one's situation, I suppose that is one.  But, please, no more.   

Flashback Friday

Class, Or Lack Thereof The Dwight Vice gravestone in Oquawka, Illinois. I bring this old chestnut out every so often just to remind me that class is classless.  Dwight Vice was killed in his home near Oquawka in 2001.  It was one of those things that can generate crime:  two guys thought Dwight had a lot of money stashed at home because of his pot-selling sideline to supplement his fishing job.   Not really one of those big drug deals gone-bad things.  Marijuana was, according to the trial, about the only stuff Dwight sold.   But these two guys barge into the house and killed Dwight and attempted to kill his 11 year old kid, Darryl, before they took off with what money they could find.   His son, now 23, was stabbed in the back and left for dead.  He survived and is wheelchair bound and has undergone several surgeries to repair his wounds.  He will be paralyzed for life.   None of this is pleasant.  Reading the facts of the murder and attempted murder are most unpleasant