2 weeks Ago By By Joey Garcia Herald Staff
Recently, the Garcia household experienced a plumbing incident that required immediate attention, and it wasn’t me this time. Our home’s water main became clogged, sending about a liter of refuse through the upstairs shower drain, and if you listen closely, you can actually hear my skin crawl. Living in a basement comes with a particular set of challenges, most of which are wet in nature.
My uncle Paul, who did and oversaw most of the technical work on our house, said that the three rules of plumbing are: “don’t bite your nails,” “crap runs downhill,” and “payday is on Thursday.” We’ve been very blessed not to have had a major flooding event in the basement since the one that occurred on the first night after our moving in, in which the shower water leaked through the ceiling, turning my man cave into a cave-cave. In the past, I lived in an apartment in which the basement walls were pregnant with sewage; portions of the loose paint had filled with water, forming gruesome sacs.
Worse, a black puddle had formed at the base of the stairs that automatically replenished itself whenever my back was turned. “Something rotten! Something rotten! You could smell it, you could tell it’s something rotten!” Don’t google that. This week’s incident was long overdue, considering the pipe was at least 50 years old.
Mr. Rooter was able to put a bandage on the problem by clearing the blockage, but when they suggested we replace the underground pipe to prevent future junksplosions, my grandmother unholstered her checkbook. One thing I’ve learned about homeownership is that anything done to improve the quality of your home long-term is worthwhile.
Just as the home itself is an investment, any permanent upgrades that increase the home’s safety and comfort will bump the scales in your favor when you go to sell it. Plumbing catastrophes are a “when,” not an “if,” so unless you want to turn your basement look like the Death Star’s trash compactor, I’d implore you to invest in sturdy pipes and a high-quality sump pump. Mr.
Rooter came back on Tuesday, and within minutes, our backyard became a dig site. Hoping against hope that they wouldn’t accidentally unearth Shawnee remains, I stayed inside and wrote this article. Admittedly, I felt guilty for sitting inside while the workers slaved away to improve the quality of my home.
I don’t enjoy the feeling of being useless or lazy; I came from such a lifestyle before I moved in with granny, who instilled in me a love for work. They’re getting paid; I’m not. I’m a liability to Mr.
Rooter; they’re employed by him. Besides, I can do my share by not putting chicken skeletons down the garbage disposal. At the time of writing, the real men outside are packing up their tools and politely putting back the Indian remains, if they did indeed disturb the dead.
I guess I’ll know either way if the furniture starts levitating. JOEY GARCIA is a copy editor and page designer at the Herald. Follow him on Instagram: @joeyg_art_cia2.
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