THE STUDIO ------------- THE GREAT FLOOD

Moving Continuity, the studio, was akin to drilling a coalmine into 45th street and jet firing the coal to 39th street. Strata of junk had to be blasted out and transported, and deeper levels had been forgotten by man. The insanity had settled into a modest chaos after the "big move".
Brian and his serendipitous construction work crew, had settled into it's slowed down pace that would drag out the remaining construction work for several months, sucking at the studio budget like a vampire bat at the leg of a sleepy cow.
The move was an epic tale in itself and worth the retelling, but not here; not now. This sad chapter is saved for the tale of "The Flood" at "New Continuity", and the bailing out of a true crime against humanity.
The flood, as it was first known, became later known as the "Little Flood", when later compared to "The Flood", or "The Big Flood".
New Continuity's pride and joy was their new front edit rooms which in the old Continuity were the back edit rooms. (Sometimes referred to as the Rabbit Warren.)
Since Continuity started out as, exclusively, an art studio all energy was on art and all that stuff that makes art. When the drawing of animatics became the shooting or videotaping of animatics, as well as drawing them, editing rooms had to be built within this "art studio". Square peg ­ round hole.
Since the art studio was already in the 'favored space', in the front of the studio the editing rooms, quite naturally, were converted from other rooms in the back of Continuity. Back as in rear or not front.
Now in the brand spanking new Continuity the edit rooms are up front.
More, they all face the street. They also face a Hip-Hop club across the street. A Hip-Hop club that set up a skateboarding half pipe on their roof as well as a roof top club and disco. Ha ­ hoool.
The building is wider than the old building and on the street side has five full (count them) rooms. Next to the rooms is a wide lobby area and a splendiferous glass enclosed waiting room where the elevators let out. (Just too, too fine.)
Beyond the reception desk and next to the edit rooms is Neal's studio. A place, which remains at this writing, still unfinished, without a floor, desk or cabinets. Even so, Neal smiles like a kid and calls it the Bridge of the Starship Continuity. Again that bridge and its earlier, smaller incarnation are worth their story but not today.
So, two weeks after the big move in. The day was a Monday and it was raining. It wasn't 'til everyone had lunch that Neal walked into edit room 3. His shock didn't hit at once because the disaster unfolded to his eyes slowly. First, three wide ceiling tiles were missing from the ceiling, they had sogged up with water and fallen overnight onto the floor and table and, "Oh no!" onto the computer equipment, and into it. Taken in steps, it was bad, got worse, then worse, then a disaster. When Neal recovered from his shock, he called for help to clean up, move equipment, get garbage cans to collect water, and a ladder for Neal to investigate the source of the leak. There was an ancient encrusted pipe that came down from the 10th floor. An elbow joint kept the drain under the dropped ceiling. It then went right along the front of the building and out to the right. Weird.
The landlady was called, and construction Brian, seeing the commotion, came to investigate. Brian is 6'3" and very fit, and for an interior builder, quite attractive, in that rugged, muscular, smiley way that some men have and others can only envy.
Brian climbed the ladder. Neal was heard to have said, "Be careful now, don't make it worse." While Brian said, "Neal, don't worry, this is what I do." Then he said, "There's something jammed in this, Ah! Oops! Whoop! Bucket bucket hey bucket . Buuuuuucket!"
Neal calmly said, "Ooooh shit. Bucket bucket! Lots of people were saying, "Bucket", until a bucket was produced.
Apparently, the drainpipe had a hole in it and in the hole was a piece of masonry. Brian had managed to dislodge the piece of masonry and now a leak became a flood. Three and a half buckets later, the wide eyed landlady brought a psuedo-plumber (who spoke kittle English) onto the floor upstairs. Tony, the super, translated the plumbers analysis of the 'problem'.
Above the leak at the front of the building was a small balcony, apparently an enclosed rather useless balcony. A balcony that had no other purpose but to apparently collect water. The balcony had a drain which (aha) came through our ceiling then made a right to the side of the building.
Wisdom would dictate that the pipe be replaced. After all, the building is 80 years old.
The landlady, Mistress Chang, opted to repair the pipe well plug the hole. Faith in this plan did not exist at Continuity. But the pipe belonged to Mistress Chang, as well as the plug, and so the flood ended.
No puzzle can be complete without its final piece, and this was the piece.
A crew was re-facing the building in a process called pointing, (don't ask). A 6 month long process in which loose bricks are removed and re-cemented and refinished. Apparently 80 years ago, when the building was built, the builders didn't know the future would actually arrive, or they figured they would be dead by the time the first brick hit a pedestrian on the head.
A two floor scaffold was erected to protect the innocents below. Then the painters scaffolds were raised and lowered and the scaffold below collected the falling debris, as the workers pointed out.
That was the last sad piece of this puzzle and the reason that "The Flood" became known as the "Little Flood".
4 weeks later it rained again. Through much of the night. "Front room Jim" was sleeping in the studio again, as ever. He had wandered to the reception desk read a magazine, folded his arms and fallen asleep on the desk, about 3 in the morning. Awakening at 6AM he decided to go to the back of the studio. As he walked he heard a tremendous crash.
As light pinked the sky, Neal and Marilyn's phone rang. It was Jim. There was a leak, again, in the same edit room 4. Jim was catching the water in buckets.
Neal graciously asked Jim if it was the same pipe again. Jim couldn't tell.
Neal had Marilyn call Mrs. Chang. Then he rolled over to get another 40 winks. Drifting off, Neal calculated, even with the leak from the pipe, once one or two ceiling tiles were down a garbage can could catch the water until Mrs. Chang got her uni-language plumber there. It was under control.
A half hour later Jim called again. No one had come and now it was leaking into Marilyn's office.
Neal, sleepily, asked, through Marilyn, "Is it worse than the last time?"
"Yes, it's worse.", came the answer.
Neal told Marilyn to say goodbye and call Mrs. Chang again and tell her it's worse and will continue to get worse!! She must get people there fast! That this was bad!
As Marilyn called Mrs. Chang, Neal began to come to his senses. The leak was in two rooms. That wasn't a big surprise. But, when Marilyn had asked Jim if it was worse than the last time he wasn't wishy-washy with his answer. He didn't mumble or 'if, and, or but'. He said, "Yes, it was worse!"
Jim's ability to under respond wasn't there. It was a clear cut worse! Neal's eyes cracked open as the realization hit him.
Within 5 minutes he was up, dressed, unshaved, and out the door. It wasn't 8 AM yet. He got a cab easily, and within 10 minutes he was getting into the elevator at 15 West.
When he got to the 9th floor and went to the edit room 4, he simply wasn't ready for the sight. At the other end of the room, at the window, was Jim and a literal downpour. A storm, a deluge. 6 to 10 ceiling tiles were down and about 8 were wet and bulging downward. Jim was wide eyed. The studio had about 12 waste baskets and 7 large waste canisters. Here half of them were catching water from the interior storm. The water that Jim couldn't catch fell to the floor soaking the rug.

In a classic example of underestimation, Jim had missed the description. It was not worse, it was 10 times worse, 20 times worse. Jim was holding a basket that was half filled with water. Neal looked into some of the baskets. Some of them had nearly a foot of water.
"I'm dumping them into the sink but I don't have anymore buckets." Jim was looking at Neal as if he had the answer with him.
"Did the landlord send anyone?"
"No. Jim is it the pipe?"
"It's all over, I can't tell."
Neal had to get wet to look up into the empty tile holes. Water was pouring randomly from edges and cracks, everywhere.
"Oh God. Oh bloody lord." Was all he could say.
Then Jim said, as he came back with an empty bucket, "You know it's worse in Marilyn's room."
"Oh shit." Neal quietly said, as he rushed to look at the same deluge in Marilyn's room that went from wall to wall at the window side of the room. Neal bounced around the area confused and helpless. Should he get more baskets? Jim had gotten every basket in the studio. Get the computers out of the way? Jim had tried to do this but, obviously, the downpour had poured onto Marilyn's electronic equipment for an hour at least before Jim moved it. Help Jim dump buckets?
Finally, Neal came to his senses.
He went upstairs to find out what was going on. "Water is pouring from your floor to ours on nine", he told a surprised fellow on the 'architects' floor, "Can I look at your balcony?"
With 3 "Oh, Gods" and 4 "Reallys", the vanilla man led Neal to a front window. Neal lifted the window completely up in one heave and looked out into an impossible scene.
Here was the useless balcony. 3 windows led to it, no door. The balcony was about 3 and a half feet wide and about 12 to 15 feet long. It was completely enclosed by the building and on the street side by a short wall over 2 feet thick. Looking down Neal saw 2 inches of chipped off cement shards and materials left by the 'pointing' crew. It covered the floor of the balcony and, obviously, the scraps filled the drain. Wherever that drain was, it was covered by chips. Lying over the shards and chips was 10 inches of water, at least. Mid-calf deep, it was like a 15 foot bath tub. Neal looked at it and his mind slammed into a brick wall.


Here was about a hundred to 2 hundred gallons of water, and there was no place for it to go except down through the cracks to Continuity below.
Down to bedraggled Jim and his buckets. And still it rained it was a downpour.
If the drain was cleared would it burst again below? How could he clear it anyway? What if he tried to clear it and made it worse? How could it be worse?
And still it rained.
Neal looked up at the rain and realized suddenly, that it must've been raining for hours. Here was the result. A reservoir of water that would continue to pour into Continuity until it was somehow pumped put.
But when would Tony, the super, show up? Did he have a pump? He must. But how long would it take to get it set up .. and pump it out? What could he do? A random thought fled through his mind. A stupid thought.
"Bail!" Bail? Impossible.
Neal went downstairs racing the options through his mind. Let it pour into his studio for two or more hours or bail those were the choices. The only choices Lord.
In the studio it was getting worse, if such a thing was possible. Neal talked it over with Jim, then finally told him to get a good bucket and ? No, we can't bail that whole thing. Then he looked at the filling buckets. Jim was already bailing into the sink. How could he stop and come upstairs?
"Jim, just keep emptying buckets. I'm gonna bail."
Jim's eyes widened. "Bail?" "You're leaving?"
"No, Jim, no, bail, bail!"
Neal took one of the mop buckets. He walked to the reception desk. Took off his shoes and socks. Put them on the desk. Then he rolled up his pants. He took his bucket and went to the elevator. There was a passenger who ignored the fact that he was barefoot, had his pants rolled up and carried a bucket. He took it to 10 and pressed the buzzer. Someone let him in. He walked unmolested in his bare feet, rolled up pants and bucket. He threw up threw window and climbed over the sill, stepped into the water and onto the shards. He hadn't rolled up his pants far enough but he was wet now and getting wetter and he was committed.
At the center of the balcony he threw an experimental bucket of water over the edge. Then he leaned over to watch the water's descent. The water spread in the air then hit the scaffolding at the second floor.
With all the rain no one even looked up. Incredible.
Neal braced his feet and began bailing. The rain poured on him, drenching him. Past wet. Alone in the city. Bailing out a balcony. Wet beyond wet.


Taking his mind off of the bailing, he wondered what it would be like to look out your window into a downpour and across the street there was some maniac in his shirt sleeves, bailing out his building.
Time to switch the fan cam on.
20 minutes later, Ho, the maintenance guy, stepped out the window. Neal had dumped 2/3 of the water over the side when Ho got there. Neal warned him to take his shoes off. Ho said something in Chinese and pidgin English and came onto the balcony and sunk to his ankles in debris. He began to bail.
The rain picked up.
Neal yelled to Ho, "Where's the pump? Ho the pump!
Dawning realization hit Ho. "The pump, of course." (Or the equivalent in Chinese.) Back through the window, Ho squished through the architects office.
Ten minutes later, Neal had taken the water down to the drain level. Most of the balcony was higher than the drain area. He could do no more now. He stood up and let out a loud "Ha"! He couldn't believe he had bailed all that water in, what was it, a half an hour? Drenched to the core he went back through the window.
Where the hell were all these damn architects? He saw the back of one down the hall and resisted yelling to him, "Hey, meatball, I bailed your bloody balcony slash swimming pool" and instead went to the exit door and to the elevator. Pressed the down button. Door opened. There were six people on it. He waved them away. Their dull morning eyes began to widen at the bedraggled, bare footed fellow that waved them on like a haunt from a ghost ship. The door closed. "What the, he "
Miracle of miracles, the next elevator was empty. One floor down and into see Jim. "How's it goin' Jimmy?"
"It slowed down a lot. What did you do?"
"I bailed!"
"I know."
"What d'you mean kiddo?"
Jim grinned, "I saw it comin' by the window. It was like a waterfall. Went on forever."
Even as they spoke the leaking slowed.
Neal went to the phone and called Marilyn, "Babe, I need dry clothes sox." He tried to explain what was happening but couldn't easily do it. "Just come down Babe. Send Josh ahead with my sneakers and sox." He dreaded showing her, her room.
Tony, the super showed up.
Mrs. Chang showed up chatting about how Marilyn had called her at 6:30. In her mind was, probably, the image of the punctured pipe of a month ago. Her mouth and eyes fell open. There was a Noah joke here but Mrs. Chang wouldn't get it, Neal realized.
The plumber was there totally confused. Neal couldn't explain the balcony to him so he collared Tony, filled him in. Tony filled the plumber in and the two went upstairs to find a pump and pump.
Cory, Kris, then Scott arrived. Each had their own downpour story or puddle story or splashing bus or car story. All of which were silenced when they saw edit 4 and Marilyn's room. Eeyow!
Aid was enlisted and Scott was soon helping Jim and Neal to dump the water out of the garbage cans.
Energy exerted. Neal's shirt began to dry from evaporation and the chill left him.
Now a new problem was spotted. Certain ceiling tiles were wet and bowing downward. They would probably fall soon. Also, the florescent light's plastic bowed downward. If you examined it, it was holding a large amount of water. How much they didn't know. They would take down the tiles first.
A plan was formulated quickly a plan with an unseen flaw. Jim would hold a garbage bag. Scott would hold a transparent drop cloth that the construction crew was using. Neal, already wet, would pry the tile from its track and aim at the garbage bag as it crumbled. (As it surely would.)
A good plan unless you factor in the fact that these tiles had an aluminum foil backing to give support. Somehow, even though the backing let the whole tile get soaking wet and sag down about 3 inches, the back coating still held most of the water like a bowl.
So, as Neal eased the soaking tile out of it's track it began to crumble, as they planned, but it also let it's contained two quarts of water right on to Neal's face and chest in a splashing torrent that soaked him from head to waist again! Jim hooted and Scott turned his head away and shook with repressed laughter. A moment later a grinning Scott looked over the edge of the plastic sheet at Neal, drenched, pulling chunks of ceiling tile off his head and shoulders. The sight made Scott's day he admitted later.
Well, Neal was wet again. More tiles were removed, but more carefully now that the lesson was learned. It was time to tackle the florescent light.
It couldn't be taken down. It was a covered fixture 4 and a half feet long and 1 and a half feet wide. The water sagged the center of the plastic cover.
Neal asked Scott to tip the plastic in one direction. Jim and he would hold garbage cans under the down edge and catch as much of the dripping water as possible.
The Chinese plumber came in and decided to help. Neal didn't quite realize that he hadn't heard the whole plan and to top it off he didn't understand English.
As Scott pushed the fixture up on it's side, Jim and Neal discovered that too much water ran off the edge of the fixture for them to catch, and there was more water in there then they realized.
Then the plumber began to push up in the middle which, of course, spilled water all around the edge. Not the plan. There weren't enough cans to catch the water even if there were enough hands to hold them.
"Stop!" Neal said. "Stop now. Stop." (Didn't know his name.) "Stop." (Suddenly the terrible realization occurred to Scott, Jim and Neal at the same time. He didn't know the word "stop". He would push up on the center until all 3 quarts, or so, of water had poured all over the office, and them.
Neal has an unknown talent. His voice. You wouldn't think it to know him, but he can fire that voice out and rattle the bones of a teamster 40 feet away. People have chipped their teeth as that voice went through their heads. Others swear, if a person commits an incredibly stupid act and Neal barks at them (only in an extreme situation.) that person's hair actually blows back from the sonic vibration alone.
"Stop!" it came up as a growl and hit the plumber square in the head. His head jerked back, his hands fell nerveless to his sides. The yell was a local yell. No one outside the room heard anything but a low rumble. Then "Get down", Neal pointed down the ladder. The plumber skittered down the ladder and went out of the room as if he was in shock and his bones were still vibrating.
Neal realized absently, as did others, that if that plumber had put a wire cap on that drain, this all probably wouldn't have happened. That voice he used was a bit more stern, perhaps, because of the man's incompetence.
This was all yesterdays' events. One computer, one keyboard, one stereo down. Other equipment is drying out to try plugging in on Thursday. Neal won't sue, he simply doesn't do that. He won't even tell the insurance company, ('cause they're snakes), he says. The landlady will pay for any shot equipment and at the end of the day a good time was had by all. Everyone pitched in to help. Marilyn was a fantastic trooper, considering her room took the biggest hit, disaster wise.
Josh? Well, Josh pitched in, as anyone who knows Josh knew he would.

Click here to read the story - The Sausage Con

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