Remember when I wrote the posts last year about the bathroom? About the plumber and about the problems?
This time we have all the water you want. No, really. You just have to be prepared for it to emerge, rather like magic, (almost sort of, if magic smelled and were brown with floaty bits and in no way useful) from the drain in the basement.
I know nothing about plumbing. But, way back when, the moment Dr. Lightbody told me to go to NAIT and be a plumber, I should have seen it.
You can be as smart, as capable, as competent as you want. You can have a fancy title and drive a nice car. But I assure you, from the depths of my wet and smelly rubber boots, you are utterly at the mercy of modern sewage. Utterly and totally and completely.
The sort of mercy that makes you send a text to Mr. California asking him to invent a crises that would require you to fly back to the project in Victoria. (He declined. He also told me to call a plumber)
The sort of mercy that finds you pouring the contents of a wet vac down your city storm sewer, praying no one you know comes by, because you don’t know how the hell you will explain this to anyone.
The sort of mercy that makes you almost wish they would arrest you, because I’m pretty sure the holding cells have a toilet and a sewer, and the two are on speaking terms.
The sort of mercy that makes you wonder if you couldn’t just lock your house and move far, far, far away and never think about this again.
I tell you, until you have been an inches deep in sewage, in your basement, you, your husband and the wet vac, telling yourself to be a grown up, you just don’t realize.
You are utterly at the mercy of some bits of pipe and a guy who is going to charge you a princely sum to make the pipes work, and I tell you, you would pay a king’s ransom to be able to flush the damn toilet.
Because without it, you are in the merde.