I was making a pot of coffee when I opened a letter from my always alert water company. Apparently my water meter wasn't measuring the amount of water I was using. They didn't outright accuse me of doing something illegal, but did insinuate that if I wanted my toilets to continue to flush, I'd better let them install a new meter. I made the appointment.

The water authority plumber called me into the basement. "Ya hear that?" A swooshing noise barreled through a thin pipe in the corner. "You have the old gate type of shut-off. That noise means it's not shutting off. You should call a plumber to put on a ball valve joint."

"Can't you fix it?" I asked, trying to keep the desperate tenor out of my voice.

"Oh, no." He shook his head and smiled. "We just maintain the city's meters."

I wanted to protest, but it didn't seem prudent to challenge the very professional who, without provocation, could turn off my toilet.

"You'll need to coordinate the job with the water authority." Then he added, "Oh, and you won't have water until the job is done. Don't worry, it won't take more than an hour."

Early in the morning on the appointed day, the water authority plumber returned and shut off my water at the curb by sticking a long crochet-hook-looking thing down a pipe near the curb in my front yard.

I made a pot of coffee and waited for my personal plumber, the guy who gets $75 just for ringing my doorbell. Actually fixing something costs extra. Today's job took him less than an hour. I wrote him a check large enough to pay off his daughter's student loans.

By midmorning, he left and the water authority plumber returned with his gigantic crochet hook. In a few minutes the doorbell rang. Problem solved, I thought. I can get back to writing at my desk and making a fresh pot of coffee.

"I broke off the flap where the key goes in," he said. "But don't worry, there's a crew in the neighborhood. They can be over in about an hour."

OK, this is manageable. No reason to panic. Just stay calm and the water will be on before long. I poured myself another cup.

At lunchtime, two guys in a mud-spattered truck parked in front of my house. From the den window, I watched as they stared at the pipe and made long thoughtful gestures toward my grass. They didn't actually do anything except peer at my lawn. One worker came to my door. All I remembered him saying was backhoe ... today ... about an hour.

By this time I'd been without flush toilets for half a day, and he told me not to worry. Was he kidding? The only water in the house was in the dog's bowl. A piece of water-logged kibble clung to the rim. My hands were still sticky from licking the jelly off them from my toast. The two mugs of coffee I had drunk were already filling my bladder. How much longer would it be? Before they could dig, they had to call the gas, cable TV and electric companies. Those companies needed to mark where their lines were under my lawn. While we waited, a backhoe rumbled down my street and squatted at the curb like a prehistoric beast.

After the lunch hour, men from the various companies parked their battered trucks and trudged across my lawn. Occasionally they stooped and placed small plastic flags in my yard. Red, yellow and blue flags covered the grass. My landscaping looked like a golf course for squirrels.

Then screeches and metal scraping against metal could be heard as the backhoe scooped up mound after mound of my Kentucky bluegrass and topsoil. Suddenly, white PVC pipe stuck out of its jaws at erratic angles.

"Do you have a sprinkler system?" one of the workmen asked.

I nodded.

"Uh, used to have," another workman said. He assured me that they would fix my sprinkler system and landscaping and not to worry.

By midafternoon, I had water, along with a new flap to receive the giant crochet hook, should I ever need to have the water turned off again. That's good news because I just received another letter from the water authority. Now they think the base of my sprinkler system may be leaking contaminated water into the public water supply. I need to install a backflow prevention valve.

I called my plumber to make an appointment. "Don't worry," he said. "It'll only take about an hour."