Turd Is The Word

I completed my 27th trip around the sun on Thursday. My morning started out normal enough: I woke up with my glasses smashed onto my face and freezing my ass off in my provocative sleepwear comprised of three sweatpants, two sweaters, four pairs of socks, my heaviest winter coat, a beanie, scarf and socks over my hands.

Sleepwear sans winter coat. I slept like this not only because of a lack of heating, but also because I was terrified of getting bit by Chile's deadly rincon spider. Also, I’m single in case anyone was wondering.

Finally situated, I reached for my phone to find a text not from someone wishing me a happy birthday, but from a teacher at my school telling me class was cancelled. Why? Because it was raining. Absurd? Yes. Was I going to question a random day off? No. A further inquiry would be the equivalent of reminding your teacher he or she forgot to assign the class homework to be completed over the weekend. Or leaving a note on a car after you dinged the door in the parking lot. Or telling your mom your father has been cheating on her for three years. None of which are necessary. Classes were actually cancelled because many students live in “el campo,” meaning the countryside, so on any given day getting to school is tough, especially when it’s raining. Which apparently is never. Allow me to explain.

Since Wednesday evening, the chatter around town has been exclusively about the rain slated to hit over the next several days. From my understanding, meteorologists were predicting about 4-5 inches. I wasn't impressed. However, people were losing their goddamn minds in the streets; they were stocking up on water and food, putting sand bags in front of doors and windows and praying to Jesus or a rain god or someone. I watched in amazement and rolled my eyes at the absurdity of it all. Had I known the infrastructure of Ovalle was comparable to that of a town I constructed with Tinker Toys circa 1997, I wouldn’t have been so flippant.

Apparently, meteorologists misjudged (whaaaaat?!) the amount of rain the region would receive over the course of two days, which ended up being an amount unprecedented for the semi-desert climate here and far too much for the city to handle. I should have known better than to believe the weather forecast after all the disappointing false snow storm/school cancellation predictions of my youth. I swear these weathermen get raging boners when any inkling of a new weather pattern emerges.

Fast forward to about 4:30pm on Friday, when a nearby dam reached full capacity and collapsed, propelling exorbitant amounts of water into town. Because I was peacefully napping after polishing off a bottle of prosecco and a Milka chocolate bar, I missed the big news—until my distraught host mom came bursting into my room screaming that the dam broke and everyone was being evacuated. My reaction?

For dramatic effect, she started with that and failed to mention we were not being evacuated. Fear mongering knows no geographical bounds.

Actual footage of my host mom barging into my room/the dam breaking.

She then turned on the news and gasped with her tiny hands clasped around her face every time the media showed the same two images of the flimsy dam wall giving in, claiming she felt lightheaded watching such an atrocity. Well, the real atrocity is this: the dam water took with it the sanitation and sewage plants of Ovalle, consequently expelling an explosion of diarrhea straight into the streets.

Classes have been cancelled until further notice and all water has been cut off in the entire city. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t panicking. Every last water bottle has been scavenged and the government has resorted to setting up water tanks around town. As for the next time I shower? Your guess is as good as mine. At least I have high water pants.