Our Tub Has a History
In Roseburg there are about three places to get a hot tub and everything that goes with it—chemicals, mechanical, etc. Some places are newer than others and may not always have the best interests of the ‘needy’ tub owner in mind when they set fees and price chemicals. The place closest to us, about a mile away, has a great fancy show room with well stocked selves lining the space. The tub displays are, let’s face it, incredible and very tempting. These new set-ups are sleek and sexy, with multiple jets and functions as well as chromotheropy (wow colored lights, groovy). They are all made for one purpose—to soak in or soak as much out of the consumers pocket as possible?
Marianne had tried to get hold of anyone there that could help us fix the cracks in the shell of the tub. It had taken about two weeks to actually talk to a real person, who wasn’t very hopeful he could fix the shell without extensive (and costly) renovation. By accident I stopped into another outfit close to school that does both spas and stoves. It didn’t sound like a good combination. Usually selling tubs was an afterthought when stoves weren’t selling, but the place has been in business for at least 25 years. It is a warehouse space, large and cold inside with nothing pretentious or fancy about it. The only person there looked like a Roseburg local. She gave me the name and number of the guy that they’ve used for years for installations and repairs. A guy named Dennis, who I guessed was a really old guy with bleached hands from dealing with chlorine and chemicals all the time.
As luck would have it I was off mid-week because of Veteran’s day. I called the number and a personable guy answered. He said he was right over the hill in Lookingglass (three miles) and, after installing a pump, could be at the house in a half and hour, since he would be passing by. He showed up in a black, late eighties paneled van: a guy about 4 inches shorter than me and maybe in his late thirties. We went out to the tub--me pardoning myself for my absolute ignorance with this kind of mechanicals, and he dismissing any guilt I had for taking a free tub.
He had barely started looking at the thing and suddenly it was evident he knew his job well. He looked at the innards, gave a chuckle and a peasant smile. Oh Lord, I thought, he sees that it’s a pile of crap and that I got taken ‘big time’.
“I know this tub,” he said. “Where did you get it?”
“From someone I know over in Hucrest,” I admitted. “She didn’t want it, but couldn’t get rid of it. The friend that talked me into this knew a crane operator, etc…” I briefly gave him our history of the thing.
“Yes. I remember, I live just over the hill from her. She called up about wanting to get rid of it. All I had to do was just walk over the hill; she lives right on the other side. In fact, I probably helped put it in about twenty years ago. I know these tubs well. I use to work in their factory in the Portland area.”
I could not believe it. He and this tub had a history. Small world isn’t it? Dennis went on to tell me how he had come to Roseburg when he was a teenager, went from job to job, and eventually ended up with the spa place over on Garden Valley Boulevard. The ‘coincidences’ kept piling up. He was actually pretty amazed we got the tub out and he said it seemed to be fine. He explained how the mechanical system worked and instantly had it up and running. He went through everything with me. All I had to do was give it a couple of days to see if things worked. He gave me his card and told me to call and tell him how things were working. We talked about chemicals, the pros and cons of each system--bromine, chlorine, and saline and how old and basic our ‘new’ tub was.
I bought him back through the house and had he relate the whole story of his ‘involvement’ with our tub. Of course, Marianne chimed ‘kismet!’ when he finished. Dennis and I shook hands and told each other that I was great to have met. He didn’t charge for the first visit, but said he would be calling on him ‘a lot’. It’s an old, free tub—with a history.
The First Soak
That Thursday night after school, I came home and cranked up the heat on the tub. I had my singing group, The Vintage Singers, until 7:30 so I thought that would be enough time to raise the temperature from an encouraging 70o to something more appropriate for a first time soak on a 40o night. All during the rehearsal, through the Handel runs and the high F’s, I kept anticipating the first time in our own tub. When I got home, the rubber ducky, the thermometer that came with the tub, read 90o. That was good enough for me. I located my swim suit, my flip flops, and a big towel. I headed out to the tub, without Marianne, because of her cold that we shared.
There still weren’t any steps so I had to hoist myself up onto the edge and swing my feet around. I bravely put my feet into the hot water and as I lowered them deeper into the tub I thought it seemed warmer than 90o; maybe it was more like 100o. That did not detour me. In I went up to my shoulders, wincing at the water that nipped at my cold fresh. Yes it was hotter, but I was in my hot tub, damn it. The ancient jets worked fine and the blue light under the water gave a get ambiance to the whole experience. There is something so real and revitalizing about boiling in water on a cold night. I didn’t last more than ten minutes, but it was great.
I love how you aren’t even cold when you get out. Your body is steaming, but the air you breathe in is crisp. Once I got in the house and into the shower, I didn’t have any chemicals in the tub and who knows what had been in the pump all this time, did I realize how red my skin was. I was a little concerned that I may have scalded myself, but I didn’t care, I had a working hot tub—that was practically free!
