The Hulett Plumbing Disaster Part I

This week I fell off the grid and was completely exhausted as a result of having the fabric of my reality rent in twain by something which always happens not happening.  In my sphere of existence, when water goes in the tub, it goes down the hole and disappears.  The same principle applies to the toilet and sink.  It also works hand in hand with the washing machine as you can see it fill up and the water is magically whisked away.  This fundamental principle of modern life mechanics came to a screeching halt in my home.

I was so busy and taxed when similar events happened in November I didn’t make time to write about them.  They were remedied (or so I thought) just a day before Thanksgiving and I gave thanks for the fact things were back to normal.  This time, I wasn’t so lucky.  The warning signs were there, the slow drains were back, and then warning signs booked a lovely holiday in Belgium and left the dark, gaping maw of death to watch the house in their stead.  The dark maw of death manifested itself, to my abject terror, by thoughtfully helping the contents of my sinks, washing machine, and even my last toilet flush come rushing back to visit me in the bathtub.

Now before I go further I just want to say something to my credit here.  Before I bought my home I did my homework.  I checked out the local socioeconomic statistics, school boundaries, commute times, utility rates, cellular coverage, fire stations, police stations, parks, had the owners replace the entire roof and had them purchase a home warranty policy for me.  I also paid for a complete home inspection which went very well and I consider it to have been an excellent and investment of my money before buying my home.  The inspector checked out every and nook and cranny from the ground up and said, “Not too shabby!”  After all of that I considered myself fairly well covered.

However, the home inspection did not entail the sewer line (below the ground) and that thought quite completely escaped me until just after I signed the papers and started moving in.  I was reminded of the The Armstrong Plumbing Disaster which Dooce followers may remember from 2006.  Blurb and Dooce had sewer troubles in an older home in my fair city and I had just bought a beautiful home that just hit the century mark.  Gulp.  Since that time the slightest neureek, retut and hununga from my pipes have left me walking on eggshells for days.

My fears had become very justified and as soon as the warning signs started to book their trip to Belgium I called my home warranty company.  The plumbers arrived just the gaping maw of death set up camp and they set up camp on Tuesday right along with it in my bathroom.  Then the noise started.  The grinding and the clanking and the vibrations signaled the beginning of a battle which would rage for the next six hours.  A friend came over with drinks and sandwiches and very carefully worked to keep me occupied for the next two to three hours, knowing that I was very likely to come unhinged otherwise.

Somewhere in between Lisa Lampanelli and Wanda Sykes on Netflix there was less-than-subtle shift in the sounds coming from my pipes followed by a clank, then a clash, and then an “Oh my God…” from one of the plumbers in the bathroom.  At that moment I realized I hadn’t had enough to drink and debated pretending I hadn’t heard what just happened on the grounds that nothing can have happened if I didn’t hear it.  At the same moment that debate was falling in favor of “ignore it”, one of the plumbers came to fetch me for a round of show and tell.

To be continued…