The Electric Shower

I was electrocuted, but only mildly.

There are two tiny rooms that make up one bathroom in this house in rural Costa Rica. One contains the toilet and a wastebasket. The other is the shower. They are right next to each other and the sink is outside of the room with the toilet. I enter the shower room with all of my stuff - shampoo, conditioner, soap, razor, towel, robe and rubber shoes.

Yesterday Rita showed me how to operate the shower, since I'd never seen a contraption like the one before me now. It was an electric shower. Now, I was not a science genius, and I did almost fail high school physics, but I know that water and electricity don't go together. Of course, I was very weary about taking a shower that involved electricity.

I disrobed and left my things on the chair. I stepped down, onto the rubber mat, with my rubber shoes on - because for some reason I remember learning at some time in my life that rubber soles on your shoes will help protect you from electrocution. But I have no idea how I know that.

I was almost tempted to just take a cold shower. How bad could it be? So I turned on the water. AHHHH! I could feel the mist, and that was more than enough for me. I had no choice. I had to remember what Rita told me - or what I thought she told me (the LSP 22 year old living in her house this year) about how to turn on the hot water. I considered this a life or death situation, considering eminent electrocution would be my fate if I didn't do this right.

Shivering, with my teeth chattering, I looked around the narrow shower room. The royal blue paint was peeling off the walls in some places. Cold water was still running out of the showerhead, the mist hitting me. I tried to take a good look around. I didn't want to take for granted possibly my last vision on earth. Frankly, I would have preferred to be looking at something more beautiful than this shower room, but I guess I didn't have a choice. It was now or never. So I turned to the Frankenstein-like switch on the wall. It was painted the same color blue as the walls. I held the handle of this unusually large lever, that when placed in the up position turned on the showerhead and heated the water as it went through. I made sure I was standing on the rubber mat, with my rubber shoes. A little extra rubber to pad the electrocution never hurt anyone. In one instant I held my breath, which stopped my teeth from chattering, and cranked the lever upward. There was no sound or light that told me the water was being heated until I felt a little bit of slightly warmer water start to trickle out. It was so anti-climatic that I actually wondered what I was worried about.

Every morning thereafter I did a version of the same ritual that began that first day. Turn on the shower, stand on the mat, try to breathe even though ice water is running over me, lift the horror-movie lever to turn on the hot water, pray I'll make it out of the shower today. On some occasions I actually was electrocuted, but only mildly. I'm convinced it's the rubber shoes and extra insulation from the rubber mat that saved me.