My little island

Nah, I haven't won the lottery, allowing me to start looking for my own private island. Or even Idaho.

But I do live in Chapel Hill, an area that could be described as an island, or a bubble. Actually, I'm pretty much in bubbles within bubbles within bubbles. I actually live in Carrboro, which is kind of a bubble of liberalism even within the Chapel Hill area. Then there's Chapel Hill, which Jesse Helms famously wanted to build a wall around (though, he didn't threaten to make us pay for it!). And, the greater Triangle are is pretty bubble like itself, with its museums, arts, universities, jobs, and so on.

But today my little bubble is more like an island. A desert island, actually. Surrounded by water, with not a drop to drink.

Thursday evening, our city water system had an accidental overdose of fluoride. Not a huge deal, they discovered it quickly, arranged to borrow water from Durham, and asked people to conserve water. Okeydoke.

But then Friday, a water main broke. It, too, was fixed quickly, but it dropped the water levels to the point that they're afraid of contamination in the system. So, since about noon yesterday we've been on a do not use order. No water use, for any purpose (yes, that includes flushing).

It's just the Chapel Hill-Carrboro area, which is why I feel a little island like. Everybody around us is getting up, showering, flushing, etc. and we're looking at the various sources of water we were able to scrounge yesterday and prioritizing. Eating breakfast foods that aren't going to require a plate to be rinsed, using the "if it's yellow let it mellow" rule for flushing, etc. Hopefully we'll be able to use city water again before Monday, and this weekend will wind up making the list of funny family stories.

But that brings up the other island-like quality about my life. We have all, at times, said we want to just go live on our own little island where we are insulated from the world (or maybe that's just me!).

Well, I am insulated from the worlds that many have to deal with.

When UNC's dining halls closed, my son called me and I picked him (and his girlfriend) up and fed her lunch. Once my husband got home, we went on Open Table, made reservations at a restaurant in Durham, and had some lovely tapas, rather than trying to cook at home. This morning, when our coffee and breakfasts have settled, my husband and I are going to go to the Cary branch of the gym we belong to, where we'll work out and then shower. Between the two of us, we brought home about $100 worth of water in various forms (fun fact, ice is water, so when they're out of gallon jugs....), without having to worry about what using that money for water does to our monthly budget.

That, my friends, is privilege. I know some people don't like the word privilege; for many people, myself included, growing up the word "privilege" was associated with "wealth". So, I understand the semantic discussion around the current use of that word.

But I don't care what you call it. Call it fortune, privilege, whatever. What I described above is what it IS, regardless of what word you use.

We're not going to miss a utility payment because of this. We're not going to miss a rent payment. We can crack jokes about it. We're annoyed because we, OMG, will have to balance doing laundry with our work schedules next week! We're worried about how we're going to cook our wings and nachos for the super bowl!

A friend posted on Facebook this morning a list of places where we can get free water (incidentally, free water is nice and all, but in a town where the median income is over $64,000, also an example of privilege) and showers, and also reminded us that this is not suffering at the level of Syria, or Iraq, or many of the other places that our banned refugees are trying to get out of.

And it's not. But it's also not suffering at the level of Flint, Michigan, or any of the many communities in this country that have water issues. There are communities where sewage from houses still is dumped in the creek, because when the water treatment plant was built, those houses were grandfathered. There are communities where a spill upstream keeps them from using their water for weeks.

"Oh," some will say, "But this isn't privilege! You've worked hard to get to the place where you can live in this kind of city! " Well, yes, I have and do work hard. And my parents worked hard before me, and you only have to go back to my grandparents to get to a blue-collar, paycheck to paycheck existence. But I've also had, literally, thousands of dollars in my savings accounts since my parents opened the first one for me. My entire life I have had a safety net.

Yeah, I've had to make choices. And there have been times when I was significantly less well-off than I am today. And, yes, I've worked hard. But I have not had to decide whether to pay rent or buy water. I have not had to walk home carrying that water (and therefore buying less) because I can't afford a car. Or can't afford to fix the car I have. I haven't had to look at my sick kid, wondering if they look well enough to go to school so I can get at least a few hours of work in, because I'm hourly, and if I don't work, I don't get paid.

So, yes, this little water crisis is a pain. But the fact that it's going to become a family story is privilege. The fact that I can afford to buy the water, and have a car to carry the water, and can go eat out, and have a gym membership... all of that is privilege.

And, just maybe, we should keep that in mind as we're incessantly checking to see when we can turn the taps on again.