(not our crawl space, just a gruesome photo I found online)
THE CRAWL
SPACE
The handyman
crawls into our godawful crawl space, where perhaps urban rats and roaches
dwell in humidity bathed with pinhole leaking pipes.
Nearly
100-year-old pipes that also provide food in the form of kitchen grease ground
up in the Insinkerator then served up via the cracked cast iron route to
the main sanitary line.
So he says,
after we summoned him telling him we’re pretty confident the ancient pipes are
slowly leaking "you have some vermin down there.”
“Do you know
every time you rinse the dishes, some of that crud feeds them?
“And why, in
the middle of the crawl space, is there some poured cement?”
“I mean, it
looks like it's 60 years old, but…”
Wow.
Okay, I
don't get enough exercise, but I'm pretty sure I don't look 60.
And since no
one is a homeowner before being about 20, I'd have to been flippin’ 80 to have been the one who asked for some cement to be poured where just old dirt is supposed to be.
So why on
earth would you be asking me?
And since I
told you when I made this appointment that I don't do work on the house, just
why would I have crawled through the fat man's squeeze of a crawl space opening
and waded through vermin droppings, to dump some concrete under my old house?
Am I the
only one who gets asked so many stupid questions?
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