Recently a drainage pipe under the house broke. It took far longer to realize what was going on than is even remotely reasonable.
It was when the fly population exploded that we finally realized something had to be done. My wife, of course, was there to look out for the (very) little guy.
When we finally accepted that something was wrong, the best we could figure was that an animal had died in the ducts, or in the crawl space under the house. It was one of those moments where you want a grown up to show up and deal with the situation… and then you gradually have to accept that that grown up is you.
So, down I went in to the crawl space – a debris-strewn, claustrophobic pit. It’s low enough that you have to army-crawl through most of it. It’s basically “Coffin-Like, Tetanus, Mouse Feces Fun Land.”
A cracked pipe that had created a lake of dirty water that had become an ecosystem of horror. This meant dealing with the pipe, but then also dealing with the lake. Off I went to Home Depot for supplies necessary for crawling around a lake of muck.
With my paltry ventilator and goggles, down I went again to combat the muck.
After dragging myself through the filth, old furnace filters and abandoned machine parts, I spread lime, quintuple sealed the old pipes, and emerged – the reluctant grown up.
I went to bed that night feeling quite the man of the house. Problem solver. Crisis handler.
And then the motor in the refrigerator started squealing and grinding…