15 December 2008

postdiluvian post

I don't know if I spelled that long word in the title correctly, but I know what it means so I get points for it anyway.

I have to expound upon the day's adventure... because there always is one, you know...

My plans for today involved a lot of laundry, as much crocheting as possible (to finish up Christmas gifts), and wrapping presents in any spare time I had.  So after breakfast I got right on top of the laundry and did, lemme think about this... a load of colors and had a load of socks going in the washer.  The socks were washing away and I had already finished folding and putting away some stuff that had been sitting the basket waiting on me and getting wrinkly, so I wasn't in the back of the house folding anymore (unfortunately).  At some point, thought, I came back to the bedroom to do something (no clue what), and thought I could hear water running in my bathroom.  The bathroom door was shut which muffled the noise, so I figured I was just hearing water in the pipes from the washer draining.

I got a little closer to the door... and the water noise got louder.

I opened the bathroom door and there seriously had to be a waterfall happening... it was loud.

The faucet wasn't on, so it had to be something going on with the toilet or the shower.  So, I started into the bathroom to check it out...

... only to find myself WADING in water up to the bottoms of my pant legs.  I'm pleased to say that I refrained from cursing because (you're just going to have to take my word for it) I do not make a habit of using fowl language, but for whatever reason when I'm taken by surprise or am startled or am about to be rear-ended by a very large and quickly approaching red truck, it's the first thing out of my mouth.  I think I said "schneikies" (thank you, Tommy Boy).  Whatever the case may be, it wasn't anything worse than that, and I really felt like that was worth mentioning.  Maybe my subconscious is becoming better behaved...

But I digress...

So yeah, there was water pouring over the side of my shower stall.  Don't panic too much... it's just a step-in shower, not a full-on bathtub.  That really would have been terrifying.  Not that it wasn't... because it was.

The first thing I noticed was that I had set my foot down right next to my little electric shaver deal which was, of course, plugged in.  Thank the good Lord above that He was looking out for me and I didn't get electrocuted.  The next thing I did was either call David or turn the breaker off for the back part of the house... I don't remember what I did first.

Regardless... at some point, I called David and said something like, "There's water like pouring out of my shower, what do I do?" and his response was, of course, "Call your dad," which is what everybody says when practically anything goes wrong.  Computer crashing? Call your dad.  Transmission fell out on Plano road? Call your dad.  Having a mental breakdown because you're newly married and can't figure out how to live with another person in your space? Call your dad.  Bathroom flooding? You get the picture...

Another aside here... my mom will tell you that she is not electronics savvy and it's pretty darn often that their small collection of remote controls gets the best of her.  Every grandchild that knows how to speak so far knows the solution when Mam-ma's about to lose it because she can't get the TV and the DVD player to jive: "Call Poppy."

So I called my dad and basically all I had to say was, "There's water coming from the drain in my..." when he delivered the joyous diagnosis that the septic tank was backed up and I needed to call somebody to come pump it out.

Now there's a fantastic occupation.  How does one settle on septic tank work? It's like proctology or driving the dead wagon or working at Wal-Mart.  Four guys came and dug a hole in my back yard.  One of them literally sat on the side of hole and stared down into it... another one stirred.  Yes, I know... lurvely.

What is the dead wagon, you may ask? It's a large truck in which a man drives from farm to farm collecting any dead livestock.  I assume they do this year round, but it's really the most obvious in the summer.  And you, ya know, hold your breath when you see you're gonna meet him on the road... and, ya know, dead carcasses swell and split open and stuff like that.

I think I'd still rather do that than deal with other people's crap for a living.

Back to the topic at hand... obviously when I turned the washer off, the water eventually stopped running out of my shower.  It was such a mess though... oh my gosh, was it a mess.  And after the dudes came and took care of stuff (p.s, there was a root growing into our septic line, by the way), everything drained properly and did fine.  So, everything was happy in Carter land again.

I still had to clean BOTH bathrooms, though... since water backed up into the tub, too.  Errr... not pleasant, but oh well.

We discovered through all this though that Scotty is capable of sleeping in the daybed in his room.  I would explain how this relates, but it's another long tangent and I'm sure anyone who's reading this is utterly exhausted and probably a little (or a lot) confused by now.

There's my interesting story for the day.

Oh and...

Amount of laundry done = 2 loads 
Number of presents wrapped = 3
Amount of crocheting accomplished = zip, zero, zilch-a-roonie

Best laid plans...


Ben December 23, 2008 at 6:07 AM  

Hi Megan! Ha ha, I thought the rhetorical questions were good....I think I'll answer one of them. Dead wagon people work driving the dead wagon because they don't want to be certified nursing assistants (that's what I was for two years; nothing quite compares to dealing with old peoples' crap all of the time, both literal and figurative).