"Swamp"

I walked barefoot in my back yard this week. Splg, splg, splg, as I kicked wet mud up my legs. Climate change is making NE Ohio a swamp, but I really enjoyed walking barefoot in March. It’s important to seize moments like that, especially since it’s supposed to rain all weekend. The overly wet outside made me think about my plumbing.

I studied the issue from a distance. You have to sneak up on plumbing, and since my plumbing is ancient, it has experience sensing new assaults. I worked up a game plan, hauled miscellaneous pieces parts and tools from the basement, flopped myself on the floor, and deeply breathed resolve before picking up the wrench.

The garbage disposal wasn’t working, so I figured it had to be the main culprit for the faulty drain. I remembered to turn off the electricity, and even read instructions online. Other than about an hour of searching for a mysterious ring holding the thing together, disposal removal went as well as such things can go. I just skinned the knuckles on one hand and only dumped about a pint of wet sludge on my clean floor. After rummaging through my pile of plumbing parts, a trip to the super mega hardware store for more parts, a gushing waterfall when I sampled my connections, another trip to the super mega hardware store, more parts, and a mild concussion when I bashed my head on the sink, the drain held water again; literally held water, because it sure wasn’t going anywhere.

Disassembly, snaking, assembly, snaking, assembly, plunging, time out, more online searches, more plunging, more time outs. I have now achieved a system that slooooowwwly lets water seep into the great beyond.

In times past, I would’ve called the hardware store for help. Not that mega super store. The store with old guys who actually know stuff. Alas! They closed my plumbing sanctuary last fall. I used to go there with my bag of corroded parts and a look of utter helplessness. I was whisked to the back with a gruff old guy who dumped my parts on the work bench while muttering admonitions about my lack of upkeep, instructions about future maintenance, matter of fact comments about the impossibility of ordering parts… while he rummaged around in countless little drawers for something that might be converted into the necessary configuration. Sometimes I got the sweet old guy who called me “honey” and “sweetie” and invited me to sit on a stool to watch.

I dressed up for the hardware store. The goal of “dressing up” was a delicate balance of competence and naivety. Undetectable makeup was required. Old guys don’t trust females who look too fussy to get dirty. Since my plumbing problems usually required multiple trips to the store as each succeeding part broke in reassembly, it was important to look more undone as the day went on. They really loved that. It showed effort and made them feel needed. I was lavish in expressing my gratitude each time they accomplished the impossible.

Now what? Impersonal trips to the mega extraordinary superstore? Lazy punks point limply to a far distant aisle when I ask them questions. I don’t feel the warm hug of being called “sweetie” or amusement when the gruff guy chastises me for negligence. And who is going to custom make parts for my decrepit plumbing?! I might as well start digging an outhouse because there isn’t much hope for the future.

I had a major plumbing disaster a couple of years ago (see here) , and my brother sculpted me a plumbing god to keep an eye on things. He sits on top of my refrigerator, but I guess I haven’t offered enough sacrifices in recent times. I guess it would help if I knew what I’m supposed to offer to a plumbing god?

In better news, my tomato seeds have sprouted, and my pear tree is in bloom. If the world ever dries up outside, maybe I’ll have lots of fruit this year!