"Daddy said, there's crap all over the floor."
"What?"
"He said, there's crap all over the floor."
"Crap?"
"Yes."
Audrey and I are having this unfortunate conversation because of a comment Matt just shouted from the basement, where he is shoveling, well, crap into a contractor-strength garbage bag. Audrey is not entirely certain about what crap is, or why it would need shoveling, of all places, in the basement.
We came home tonight to a basement flooded with raw sewage. It's been raining a lot, and we had already found a miniature river—cute, really, it was so tiny, but with such a strong current—running down the basement wall and into a smallish hole in the floor. What we didn't know (because we hadn't been down there for a few days) was that sewage was burbling up out of a different hole and accumulating in a stinky mess under the 6-mil plastic sheeting we had laid down. To protect our stuff. Ha! But now, ick.
It's freezing cold, but I've got the heat turned off because I don't want to spread sewer gases from the basement into the rest of the house (furnace is adjacent to sewage lake in basement). And now we can stop saying, "oh, let's bring up the [whatever]," because the [whatever] has been soaking in feces and must now be incinerated. Maybe we could burn the [whatever] to heat the house? What do you think of that idea?
Thankfully, we lived in the Twin Gables for six years so raw sewage is old hat to us. Give that building a good rain and you're pretty much guaranteed ankle-deep sewage, either in the basement, the courtyard, or your own bathtub. So this evening Matt shoveled up what he could. We agreed that it smelled very bad, and that it would be very nice to get it all cleaned up. But that perhaps it was better left to professionals. I will call a plumber in the morning. And now, here is the grossest picture you will ever see. You're welcome.
"What?"
"He said, there's crap all over the floor."
"Crap?"
"Yes."
Audrey and I are having this unfortunate conversation because of a comment Matt just shouted from the basement, where he is shoveling, well, crap into a contractor-strength garbage bag. Audrey is not entirely certain about what crap is, or why it would need shoveling, of all places, in the basement.
We came home tonight to a basement flooded with raw sewage. It's been raining a lot, and we had already found a miniature river—cute, really, it was so tiny, but with such a strong current—running down the basement wall and into a smallish hole in the floor. What we didn't know (because we hadn't been down there for a few days) was that sewage was burbling up out of a different hole and accumulating in a stinky mess under the 6-mil plastic sheeting we had laid down. To protect our stuff. Ha! But now, ick.
It's freezing cold, but I've got the heat turned off because I don't want to spread sewer gases from the basement into the rest of the house (furnace is adjacent to sewage lake in basement). And now we can stop saying, "oh, let's bring up the [whatever]," because the [whatever] has been soaking in feces and must now be incinerated. Maybe we could burn the [whatever] to heat the house? What do you think of that idea?
Thankfully, we lived in the Twin Gables for six years so raw sewage is old hat to us. Give that building a good rain and you're pretty much guaranteed ankle-deep sewage, either in the basement, the courtyard, or your own bathtub. So this evening Matt shoveled up what he could. We agreed that it smelled very bad, and that it would be very nice to get it all cleaned up. But that perhaps it was better left to professionals. I will call a plumber in the morning. And now, here is the grossest picture you will ever see. You're welcome.
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