Why I Despise Plumbing Work

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The "P" word (that dreaded catch-all category for anything that involves movement of clean or dirty fluids) is a leading cause of insanity. I will explain why. The word 'plumbing' came to us from the Latin word for lead. We know that the Roman civilization existed slightly before the EPA Empire and so they piped all their water around via lead pipe and even made drinking cups from lead. Some have gone so far as to suggest that lead poisoning from their plumbing was a major contributor to the eventual decline of their Empire. I happen to agree that their plumbing was a major factor although I believe that dealing with any aspect of plumbing, be it in lead, copper, iron or plastic, will cause or encourage complete insanity. Please proceed with that premise in mind.

Somewhere in mid-January, Mark chipped away the ice and removed one of the Rat's skirting panels. The reason at the time was to allow the new warm air to infiltrate the underbelly of the Rat and hopefully thaw out the plumbing which had already left us without running water for the last two weeks. A glorious prospect indeed!

I made the fatal mistake of stooping down to survey the creepy-crawly space. I saw ... I heard .... dripping. At that point, I should have discreetly loaded my bags into the Dakota and left for parts yet to be determined. Perhaps the roads were impassible that day, I don't remember now. Perhaps I was simply in denial with a warped pioneer stubbornness and masochism. Whatever that was matters not; I felt compelled to crawl into that void beneath the Rat to find the cause of the dripping. The water piping had held its own against the subzero weather, it was the drain system which chose to let loose.

Since I am the far more compressible into three or for segments to work under the Rat and the only one still marginally able to see in the dark, I choose at that moment to retreat and declare the drains off-limits until further notice. I needed time to think and form some sort resolve, intestinal fortitude ... something, anything. In the meantime; no water in, no water out.

There was a time when I was an erect-walking Homo Sapiens of the full basement clan. No, I was not fond of plumbing duty even back then but I did not have the oppressive dread of it that I possess now. Folding, crawling, crouching and laying in the mud of disconnected drain discharge has somehow let my disdain bloom fully. Fergawdssake, I don't have much of an immune system on a good day.

A week after the discovery, I made one more exploratory, armed with a tube of silicon just in case some quick fix might present itself. I did locate part of the problem (which I optimistically presumed to be the entire problem, of course). After scrunching around into position, I grabbed hold of the culprit drain pipe. It, in turn, launched a splendid counter attack and squarely dumped a cup of filthy gray water directly into my ear which was invitingly sideways at the time. I will not include the dissertation which followed at great volume but it set every creature within 100 yards of the Rat on high alert. I retreated to the upper Rat, flooded my ear canal with hydrogen peroxide and hoped for the best.

Just like Red, I tend to ruminate and consider all the aspects and consequences of a project until just before Hell freezes over. While Mark loves us both dearly, this is not one of the traits which compels him to do so.
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And so we lived like this for several weeks until yesterday, my next big day of resolve. Mark performed the customary 'freeing of the panel' ritual and I laid out a large piece of plastic which I hoped would be my prophylactic shield against the scum of the earth.
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The sodden forest of mold to the outer edge of one central I-beam told me that I needed to remove the glorified cardboard insulator. I dug in a carpet knife and incised the soggy matting away. That, in turn, released putrid streams of standing water down upon me. The empty kitty litter bucket in the bottom of the photo above was able to capture most of the remaining stream. It also served as a good repository for the wet pink insulation and multi-colored slime that I grabbed down by the messy handful. Then I retreated to let everything drain further - by George, it was Miller time already.
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My target? Right beyond that blackened floor stud showing in the middle of this foul incision. This is where the drain took a right angle up into the Rat. I wasn't about to take a photo looking straight up and chance having that crud leak down on me.
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Above is the other end of my mission on the inner side of the I-beam (marked with a yellow arrow). Mark, in the interim, had removed the bathroom sink and performed considerable drain rearrangements which ultimately led to a little more reasonable length of pipe poking through the floor for me to work with down under. I still managed to drive a knee and elbow into the dodgy ooze and dust the cobwebs and other unidentified flotsam off with my hair but was able to avoid a good buzz from the plastic cement. Not that unholy benediction moments did not occur but with some charlie horse spasms and a little luck, the wayward drain found its mating ends and seemed to hold in place.

Close enough for one day! I scrambled out 'from unda' and declared Miller Time Two. So far, so good! (?) My advice is to avoid plumbing issues at all costs - it is a serious detriment to both physical and mental health. This is one case where you do not wish to 'Do as the Romans'.

Now make sure to come back tomorrow for your Valentines greetings from all of us out here at the ranch!
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