When it rains, it pours

When it rains in this town, there's no mistaking it.

Last Friday, from out of the blue, a thunderstorm transformed a parched Cape Girardeau into the set of "Waterworld." I half expected to see Kevin Costner running around breathing through his gills.

The scene on the roadways only reinforced the apocalyptic feel.

Cars were stalled out at the bottom of hills, motorists who could move sprayed brown waves from spinning wheels and emergency sirens echoed from all directions.

I was on the road during most of the storm and was amazed by how fast the water rose on stretches of Bloomfield Road, Mount Auburn Road and in the Town Plaza parking lot. I'd never seen anything like it.

A local gauge recorded 2.7 inches of the wet stuff dropped in just over an hour. But as impressive as that total is, it doesn't tell the whole story. Because everyone in Cape Girardeau knows some places shake off water like a seal skin and others soak it up like a pair of Huggies.

And those of you who own Huggies-homes know just what I'm talking about. Try as you might, you just can't keep the water out.

I'm almost getting to the point where I can tell the difference between a homeowner who lives at the top of a hill and one who lives at the bottom on first meeting.

Try it some time, it's kind of fun.

For example, there's "Henry Hilltopper." A hop in his step, a gleam in his eye and not a care in the world. "Hey do you want to come over and watch the game on the entertainment system I just installed in my basement?" asks Henry. "HDTV is really the only way to go."

You try to tell him about the rain, but he's barely interested. "Storm? Was that what that was? You know I thought I heard something, but with the surround sound on my TV it's really tough to tell."

Henry doesn't think about water problems because they don't affect him.

But walk one block downhill and you'll meet another type of guy. Let's call him "Low-level Larry." Larry looks a little forlorn, beat up. His basement is not the home of an HDTV. It's more likely the home to a family of water moccasins.

"I'd invite you in, but I see you aren't wearing rubber wading boots," apologizes Larry.

Ask Larry about foundation repair and you've got a two-hour conversation on your hands. "Some people will tell you to seal a cracked foundation with an epoxy injection, but oh no, not me," Larry blurts out excitedly. "I'm a polyurethane man, always will be. Sure it doesn't give you as much firmness, but what you lose there you gain in elasticity. Yep, polyurethane's just what a leaky crack calls for."

Larry's kind of obsessed.

But cue the sound of thunder in the distance, and Larry goes scurrying up to his attic armed with road flares. He's been hurt too many times to take chances.

In his weaker moments Larry despairs, "It's just not fair. Where does all this water come from? And why won't it leave me alone?" he asks. Other times he just dreams about building a boat and collecting two of every animal.

So I have to ask why Cape Girardeans are divided like this. Why are some of us doomed to be Larry while others live like Henry? I don't have the answer. I'm just happy I live on a hill.

TJ Greaney is a staff reporter for the Southeast Missourian.