Plumbing problems, again. Water cut to a trickle so I called the plumber first thing. We’re on their *frequent disaster list* so they came right out, the fellow who did the work during the last flood and a trainee.
The well holding tank is under the stairs, accessed through a very small coat closet. He shined the light and said, “Uh-oh.”
My palms got sweaty.
“You see that?”
The flashlight wavered. That was a no. But he insisted and then it dawned on me what I was looking at: the water filter on a bracket on the wall. The dark brown water filter. My turn. “Uh-oh.” He asked how long, we counted on our fingers and both came up with #stupidownertricks #toodamnlong
I blushed, he grinned. I sweet-talked him into changing the one in the laundry room also.
When I have a man in the house with tools, I tend not to let him get away all that easily.
The head honcho stopped by and we talked about the busted water line to the barn. He had some ideas that involved backhoes, bigger pipe and upgrades to how it could be run directly from the well.
At the mention of “backhoe” I felt a little flush…
They were putting stuff away, checking the lines like they do, when one of them said, “Hear that?”
Four of us piled into the half bath and listened. Running water. That sent us on a mission to see what we’d left on, checking for running toilets, that kind of thing. Nada.
More staring into the hole under the stairs. “Why’s that 1/2″ copper pipe go into the cement slab?” Long story short: the idjits who built the house ran the main water line under the slab foundation to the laundry room. The water line is busted and has been running for some time.
That might explain the beginning of a sinkhole on the hill at the side of the house. I added feeling faint to the sweaty palms. And given the urgency, they put a plan in place that involves drywall and finding a way to scoot under the duct system, capping off the offending pipe and rerouting.
The checkbook started to wheeze.
The other bit of you might be screwed … one of the copper pipes had burst late last week, dumping a lot of water under the stairwell. That might have found its way under the subflooring which would explain the squishy carpet and spreading discoloration.
My insurance agent did a “there, there, dear” and filed a claim.
I fear I shall be living in interesting times over the next few weeks. And I won’t be lacking for male company.