It ain't my problem. Well it certainly isn't mine. Part 2

Where did we leave off?  Well, I had just left the DWP's legal office after filing the claim form with our investigator.  Feeling powerful and capable of solving this problem in an afternoon I head to the house to meet the dispatch team.

I waited patiently for a couple hours and then my heroes arrive.  They pull up in the traditional DWP SUV.  I walk right up to these guys, introduce myself with a handshake and look the directly in the eye.  I flash the friendliest and most knowing smile I can fashion.

"Thanks for coming so quickly.  This is the electrical pole and the sewer line that's been compromised runs from this clean-out directly under your pole."  I say "I'm Hubbell Radue."
"Hubble?  That's your first name?"
"Sure is."
"Like the telescope?"
"Guess you'll say "I should have seen this comin'"?"  This evokes a chuckle from Steve, who smiles at my quick wit.  I can tell if I keep this light humor going I might be able to get this guy in my corner.

They survey the pole, they survey the location of the sewer line.  I explain what we discovered with the magical Fisher Price gun from yesterday and I am trying my darndest to get these guys to see my side of the story and fix this "special" problem.  But then they decide to run the pole identification code.

Now, to be clear, there are a number of tags on any given electrical pole.  Our happens to have a tag that read "2008".  We assumed that it had been installed in 2008, that was part of our argument. 

See DWP?  You screwed up three years ago?  It's a miracle it wasn't a prblem before now. 

The reason for the miracle is because this pole was installed in 1989.  Mother-$#*&#@!  Steve explained that the tag was merely an inspection tag.  Inside I am having a little fit but I remember that I still have the wit and humor and power from that red Disney gun.  I turn to Steve with the enthusiasm and charisma of a high school cheerleader.

"Well, certainly the installation of this pole could have done subtle damage that over the years has 'compromised' our pipe."  Smile.  A big toothy smile.  I'm a cute girl.  Not gorgeous like most LA women...but unassuming and darling when I need to be.  I hope that doesn't sound conceited.  I'm like a Tina Fey but not as funny.  I'm like a Sesame Street character...the pink one with overalls and pigtails.  I'm the "cute" one.  Never the "it" girl but her friend who's there to make her prettier friend look gorgeous.  "Gosh Suzanne, how do you get that french roll cuff so perfect?  Do you use Herbal Essence?  I like how it smells but it makes my head itch."  Okay, I'm really just a glorified nerd.  A cute nerd.

I digress. 

Steve sees the enthusiasm and proceeds to assure me that when he was installing pole [insert sexual innuendo] he would occasionally damage existing pipe. While he would always call in for repair, there are other guys in the field who might damage a pipe and leave it be.  And there is always the possibility to cause unseem damage.

Clearly this is still a matter for DWP...don't you think Steve?  Smile...always smiling.

He decides to call for another dispatch team to come out.  Steve doesn't "load pole" anymore, he's purely "wire".  I nod like I'm one of the guys.  I ask him to give dispatch my number and to call when they are on their way.

When he hangs up he asks, "What area code is that?"
"Chicago.  My husband and I can't quite give up our Midwest numbers."
"You're a Chicago gal?  I'm a Chicago gal!"  You read that right, kids.  G-A-L.  I hop on this comment like a tick on a bull.
"I'm sorry, you're a Chicago GAL?" Smirk, smile, toothy grin.  I've got this in the bag!
"You hear this Anthony?"  He calls to his partner, "She's bustin' my balls!"
"Well, what do you expect?  You busted my pipe!"  AHAHAHAHAHA

I wave as they leave.  Then I wait.  The second dispatch team arrives.  Great!  By now I am pretty impressed with myself having managed to get, not one but two, DWP teams to come look at my sewer line.  I walk over with exuberant confidence.  As I am introducing myself and motioning to the pole and the pipe this uninterested DWP worker asks if we can stand in the shade while we talk?  LA-DWP-WUS!  I quickly see this high-maintenance city worker isn't going to be in my corner and I need to cut to the chase.  I hike up the haggle pants and explain for the umpteenth time that day the lurid story of the pole and the pipe.  He explains that he is "water-in" of DWP, not "water out".  Clearly this "ain't my problem".  So he gets out his little Mead notebook, the kind my five year-old self would've used to scribble copious notes, he takes my contact info.  I should get a call the following morning from the Superintendent.  They leave.  I didn't wave.

The following day I hear from the Superintendent.  His name is Thomas, not Tom (note to self, this could be very important to him so call him Thomas, not TOM!!!)  We schedule to meet at the house at 1pm. 

As I am driving from work our contractor calls.  The inspector showed up and photographed the pole.  He made it clear that he thought we had no case.  "That pole was installed in '89, you know."  Wonderful. 

Then Thomas calls to say that he is at the house already and has inspected the pole and pipe location. I appeal to Thomas to wait that I would prefer to speak to him in person.  I know my nature in person is more convincing than on the phone.  My tone is adult, my physique less so...like Meg Ryan in French Kiss, her walk described as that of a woman and also a little girl.  Me.

I arrive and shake hands, smile, thank him for waiting.
"Would you mind if we talk in the shade?"  Uh oh...another one.  CRAP!  We talk and he mentions the age of the pole.
"I understand, Thomas.  But is it not possible for damage to be done?  Even a little bit of damage that might, in fact, "compromise' the pipe."
"Well, anything is possible."
Do I have this man in my corner?  Will he help me?  God help me!!!!  And then...Thomas asks about my area code.
"Chicago." I say...please, please please let this mean something.
"Oh.  I'm from Michigan, originally."
"Really.  What part?" I wait...hoping it's somewhere, anywhere close to Traverse City.
"I little town outside of Traverse City."
YES!
"Do you happen to know Old Misson..." 

Turns out, Thomas' parent live in a little town I always drive through on my way to Neah-ta-wanta (a place my family vacations).  I mention some landmarks along Front Street including a new store friends opened featuring M-22, one of the most beautiful roads along Lake Michigan.  Thomas had a long conversation with his parents trying to determine what it meant.  I explained and encouraged him to stop in the store to say 'hi' to my friends.

"Well Hubbell", he said, "Here is what I'm going to do.  I'm going to move that pole and I'm going to fix your pipe."
OMG.  OMG.  OMG!?!?!?!
He had to say it a few more times as I peppered him with "what if" questions.  We shook hands and I smiled.  A genuine smile that exuded gratitude and awe.
"Oh!  The inspector."  I started to explain.
"What's his name?  I'll shoot him a call and tell him we're taking care of it."

So here we are.  It has been exactly one month since Thomas came out.  The location for the new pole has been marked and ground should break this coming week.  The inspector has requested to be present to take photographs and Thomas will oblige.  So we wait...and when they pull up, we'll shake hands, look them in the eye and smile.