Well Wishes

Today, I totally let the magnitude of my city girl-ness be known to my landlord.  I've started the process of switching over utilities and all that other fun technical stuff that goes along with moving.  But when I called the city to have the water and sewer account at the new house transferred into my name, the clerk informed me that they don't provide water service to my address.  So I called my landlord.  Our conversation went like this:

Me: "I called the city to switch the water over today.  They said they don't provide service to this address."

Him: "Right, because the house has well water."

Me:  "Oh, okay.  So who do I call?"

Him: "Nobody, it's just a well."

Me: "Right, I get that.  But who services the well?"

Him: "Nobody.  It's a well."

Me: "So the water's free?!?!  That's so cool!"

My landlord chuckled as we said goodbye, but I got the feeling I'd done irreparable damage to his opinion of me.  How the heck was I supposed to know how well water works?  My water has always, always, been a utility I pay for, just like gas, electricity, and the internet.  I mean, this is the 21st century.  It seems almost archaeic to think that our water comes out of a big, Mother-Nature-serviced hole in the ground.  That's crazy talk.  I wanted to call my landlord back and asked him where this "well" of mine is.  I've been over every inch of the property, and I've never seen anything that looks like it belongs in a Mother Goose nursery rhyme.  I want to find this well.  I want to decorate it and make it pretty and throw pennies in it and make wishes.  But my landlord already thinks I'm a crazypants.  So maybe I'll save that question for another day.