Saturday afternoon Haigen ventured down to our medieval dungeon (aka the basement) where he discovered, much to his/our chagrin, a portion of it to be flooded. We scoured high and low, nigh and whatever the opposite of nigh is, turned on all the taps, flushed the toilet a bunch of times, did a load of dishes, started the washing machine and still could not discern the stagnant pool of mystery water’s point of origin. So, after ruining two brooms sweeping the swampy muck into a drain on the basement floor, and copious amounts of shoulder shrugging and scalp scratching, we were officially baffled.
A plumber definitely needed to be called, but we went about the rest of the day not really thinking about the problem too much. That is, until I showered later that evening and the basement re-flooded. This time we ran the bathtub tap for a longer period of time and both stood in the dungeon watching.
Waiting.
Listening.
Until water began gurgling UP from the dark, murky underworld below and OUT OF the drain in the basement floor.
The plumber came by this morning to check it out, and thank God I wasn’t there, because I woke up in a bad mood this morning.
A bad mood that persisted through the diagnosis of this problem as being potentially financially and house-foundationally decimating.
A bad mood that remained unwavering through the information that our main water line was probably broken by either freezing temperatures or tree roots.
A bad mood that was steadfast through the explanation that home warranties don’t cover plumbing issues resulting from either of these causes.
A bad mood that remained fixed like a barnacle on the underbelly of a rusted sea freighter upon hearing that all of the trouble we went through to get the pipes scoped prior to purchasing this house were all for naught, and that the main water line of “these old houses” tends to run directly under the foundation of the home—meaning that any repairs will involve accessing a pipe UNDERNEATH OUR HOUSE.
That bad mood? It wasn’t going anywhere.
Especially after Haigen informed me that the plumber? He snaked the pipe and EXPUNGED FROM IT HANDFULS OF USED TAMPONS.
And most certainly that bad mood of mine didn’t budge when Haigen described his reaction to the tampon-extraction as, “Freaked out. At first I thought they were dead mice.”
In case you’re wondering, I’m definitely killing myself because of this.
Definitely.
