“They shouldn’t have given you a time estimate,” the customer service representative said. My eyes narrowed and I resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room. It was 10:30 PM at night. We hadn’t had natural gas service to our house for more than 24 hours. And now this person was telling me that they didn’t have a clue when we would get our heat and hot water back.

This whole thing started two nights earlier, on Super Bowl Sunday. I walked outside to empty the compost when a neighbor walked past me, then doubled-back. Stopping for just a moment, he said, “You know, I smell natural gas on your block.” Sniffing the air, I caught a faint scent of rotten eggs.

The gas company said they’d come check it out. At 11:30 PM – several hours after we called – we finally heard a knock. After walking around the house several times, the technician finally told us, “There’s a leak. We’ll send a truck. I’ll wait until they get here.” As if we just have gas leaks every day that could blow up our freaking house.

The next morning, we awoke to a big-ass truck drilling a hole in the street. One of the construction workers told me that they’d turn off the gas for “about four hours.” Real-life foreshadowing.

While the construction workers finished that afternoon, no one came by the house to check the pilot light and turn the gas back on. We ordered pizza. We put the kids to bed. But they still weren’t there.

I called the gas company. They assured me the technician would be there the next morning. We needed to be at home to let them in.

To guarantee someone would be at home while my husband dropped my son off at preschool, I worked from home. Half-shivering, I typed as I waited for the gas person. Every noise outside, I checked to see if it was the van. Every hour, I wondered how they weren’t there yet. Every time I washed my hands in frigid water, my mind screamed, “When are we getting our hot water back?” After waiting all day, I called again. Another, “They’ll get there when they get there” answer. Call back tomorrow morning.

We entered Day 2 of having no heat, no hot water, and no stove/oven. In the middle of the winter. (An unseasonably warm winter, but still.) That morning, they promised someone would be there between 5 and 10 PM. That person never arrived, leading to my 10:30 PM call of rage. As calling customer service was getting me nowhere, I decided to be all Millennial and tweet at the company.

The next morning, they finally called me. “We’re following up after you reached out to us on Twitter. We’re sending someone over soon and wanted to make sure someone was home.” Sweeter words were never spoken. Almost three days after having our gas turned off, we finally got it back on. Thank God.

As annoying as the whole ordeal was, it also made me reflect on how incredibly privileged I am.

I had the privilege to call in and be able to work from home for two days straight. My husband could have stayed home if needed. Many other people wouldn’t be able to call in and potentially miss the technician. Alternatively, some people could call in but would have to take an unpaid day of leave. Two unpaid days of leave can be the difference between paying a bill and not paying a bill for many people.

I had the privilege to call the gas company several times. If I had been at work or had severe social anxiety, calling them over and over again would have been near impossible.

I had the privilege that we have enough clothes and dishes to last two days without needing to do them. (And also the luck that we were surprisingly on top of the laundry.) We could have gone to a laundromat, but having the transportation to do so is a privilege in and of itself.

I had the privilege that at least we had an electric kettle to make small amounts of hot water. If we didn’t have one, we would have had the cash to buy one if necessary.

I had the privilege that my parents live nearby and the kids and Chris could go to their house if needed. (We didn’t because the weather was relatively warm and my parents live far enough away that they’d be late for school. If the temperature had dropped, they would have been gone in a heartbeat.)

I had the privilege to get the benefit of the doubt from friends and family, who wouldn’t be wondering if we got the gas cut off because we didn’t pay our bills.

I had the privilege to tweet at the company and have enough followers that they bothered to respond.

Perhaps worst of all, I had the privilege to know that once this was resolved, I wouldn’t be at the company’s mercy anymore.

Honestly, it was scary not having heat and hot water. It was scary not knowing what we would do if the temperature dropped. It was scary talking to someone and having them essentially say, “No, we can’t make it possible for you to take care of your children.”

I had the privilege to stop being scared once the technician came. But so many families don’t. They have to choose between the gas being turned off or paying for diapers that month. Or food and hot water.

So as miserable as those few days were, I’ll look back on them and be grateful. Then I’ll go forward and try to make it so no family has to feel that helplessness.

For more on the intersection between social justice and parenting , follow We’ll Eat You Up, We Love You So by Shannon Brescher Shea.