So I'm sitting downstairs last night watching Best of Alec Baldwin on SNL (some pretty damned funny sketches) when I notice that the ceiling looks a little odd in one spot. Well, spot's not really the correct word, considering it looks odd in an area that's about 3' X 6', so I turn on the light.
With the light on, it's pretty apparent what's going on, I've got water damage. FUCK. There's nothing above that spot that could be overflowing, so I assume it's a busted pipe or something, but unfortunately, I have to see it to be sure. At first I just tap a blister of paint that's about 3" in diameter, and out pours this brown liquid. Please don't be shit water. Please don't be shit water. It's not. But there's a good bit of water and I know I've got to do more.
Knowing how much this is going to suck, I ask Amy to get a knife, and start carving into the soaking wet dry wall. It basically collapses in my hands as I cut enough to expose the piping. Pieces of dry wall are falling down everywhere, water is dripping like mad and I'm yelling for pots to try to catch some of the dripping as I continue my scalpel work. Chloe is, of course, loving this, as she continuously eats the pieces of drywall that fall and has been enjoying water in a new bowl ever since.
Did I mention that I found all this at 11:00 PM last night? Well, no plumbers are around...and I still haven't heard back from any of the one's I left messages for almost 24 hours ago. Now I don't feel so bad when I hear those emergency calls from my clients on Monday morning. I'm sure it's gonna be a pretty penny to put this mess back together.
In the meantime, I have a 3' X 6' hole in my basement ceiling, my water turned off most of the time (except when I need to use the bathroom) and a drip bucket sitting on my basement floor collecting the drips of water still in the copper pipe (Chloe handles not letting it overflow).
Why did I want to own a place again?