I have a very distinct memory from the time when we lived in Hawaii. There are actually a lot of memories from those days but this one is unique, not because of the haze that surrounds it or the way that I remember, but because of my attitude toward the event.
I remember jumping from one piece of furniture to the next; skittering across the long sofa and leaping for the back door. I remember staying off of the floor, not because I was pretending it was lava, but because it was full of sewage. Sewage that had been choked into our home through the downstairs toilet which was attached to sewer lines that were being strangled by the roots of the pretty banyan tree outside, the banyan tree that did not stick around much longer. I love this memory, poop water and all. It’s probably because I’d been yelled at a billion times for putting my feet on the furniture and now my mom was urging me, not just to put my feet on it, but to jump, jump, go head and jump! Van Halen had major sway in my life during those days. I would not disobey them. I’m sure my mother’s feelings about the event are quite different.
Banyan Trees don’t have a central trunk, they are just a cluster of roots sticking together from out of the ground. Those stringy and strong roots were removed from our backyard by Air Force contractors and a giant sewage hole sat right outside of our backdoor until my mother made enough noise for the housing people to get it all filled in and fixed.
We don’t live on a military base. We don’t have a banyan tree. My mom can’t make our problem go away. The toilet, however, is spewing sewage.
Jud’s at home bailing out the toilet and hoping that our landlord will answer his phone or that a plumber will show up on our doorstep with magic.
In the meantime, go ahead and jump.
landlord = worthless
i feel you guys, everytime i do a load of laundry my basement floods. i thought it was just water backing up from the laundry but unfortunately i noticed some toilet paper the other day. my landlord is also worthless so i stopped complaining and always just jump, jump, jump hoping my nice clean laundry doesn’t fall out of it’s basket and into the filthy water. i also have “laundry sandals” for my dank basement exursions. on a good note, i did laundry yesterday and the basement was somewhat dry!!! a pile of rubble indicated perhaps some work had been done! i think the crankhead that lives above me must have complained more persuasively than i. i know from first hand expeience she is good at being loud. i hope you have a crankhead that can come to your rescue! i wish i could lend you mine.
I think, technically and also probably officially, I am the crankhead in the building. The landlord has made a few comments about how I am “crazy” to Jud, which, coming from his loony mouth, is completely uncalled for. The man made a sign out of duct tape that said “Dumpster Here”. All of my signs are way more awesomely badder than that. Way more.
Jud just called a minute ago to say that the sewer line man finally showed up, snaked the line and didn’t find one blasted thing. He’s talking to the one lacking worth currently and hopefully something will happen that will alleviate the bailing of water from toilets and will allow us to put our rug back down on the floor within the next few hours. Also necessary will be the stripping and sanding of hardwood floors. Why do I get a strange feeling that the landlord will not see that as a necessity?
I’m not sure if you should chalk up the rubble to “work”. I’d probably put my money on tremors first.