A little thematic music. I’m paying taxes; what am I buying?
Ever had to put money into a car you planned to get rid of, just to keep it running for those last few weeks or months until you replaced it? Intensely frustrating, that.
Or, have you ever had to sink money into a house you were selling, just to make it more attractive to buyers? Sure, that pays off in the end, but it’s not very much fun when you’re doing it.
Paying taxes to the city right when a major municipal service fails you can kinda grind your gears, too.
That’s where my grandpa was around this time 41 years ago:
Not sure what caused the problem. Unfettered access to the Stamford Advocate’s archives would be a wonderful thing, but such a thing does not exist in my world.
So I don’t know why the city — or, at least, my family’s humble corner of it — was having water trouble.
(The Advocate reported earlier this year that much worse things than mud are coming out of Connecticut’s wells nowadays. Maybe my grandpa got off easy.)
The house on Hope Street was probably about 60 years old then, which seems a little too early for the water lines to start giving out. But, that’s just my perception. Maybe it was cheap pipe.
The problem popped up again the following month before vanishing from my grandpa’s calendars:
How common was bottled water 40 years ago?
I’m sure you could find a couple jugs of it at your local supermarket, but probably not nearly as much as you can find now. I imagine there was enough bottled water around to get you through a day or two of muddy tap water, if you had to.
I can imagine my grandfather grumbling, though, as he went out to buy something he was accustomed to getting delivered right into his house.