Not Everything Changes

Very grim scene in copy room this morning. Copper tubing connecting pipes in ceiling with water filtering unit disengages itself and sprays water all over copy machine. The Contessa both fortunately and unfortunately in room when this happens. She bravely pushes past water, finds valve and turns it off. It is only after dealing with problem that she bellows profanities. Go back to copy room, finding the Contessa with wet hair, shirt and skirt and very dark expression on face. Would like very much to laugh. Pinch thigh extremely hard (later discovery dark bruise in exact shape of Africa) and manage to keep quiet. Look around room. Carpet wet sodden and walls dripping. Copy machine off thankfully, but am still afraid of electrocution (kill self and write headline for Post--Office Buzz Slay, or Secretary Fried--feel very sorry for self for being both dead and a punchline.) Call maintenence. Maintenence shakes his head and seems to blame me for the flood, asking, How did this happen? Tell him that It Just Happened. Maintenece nods, says, You don't have to tell me. Say, No really, the machine did it itself. He isn't buying it, says, Well the important thing is that we get this cleaned up. The Contessa comes back into copy machine. Has changed into gym clothes--soccer shorts and a large t-shirt advertising a computer company, hair newly damp and brushed out of her face. Tell her that Maintenence doesn't believe me that the pipe broke by itself. The Contessa blushes. Well, she says, she was feeling frustrated about the unfairness of Probate may have given the machine a tiny kick. I am shocked, as is Maintenence, who changes subject and asks if she is Going on a run. The Contessa grimaces. Says, Isn't this awful? I feel so college-y. In the Contessa's argot, college-y an extremely low assesment--as though college just another word for Church of the Devil.