This morning I spent some time wondering what if anything I could blog about. The absurdity of this becomes apparent when you understand that the basement had already flooded at this point. I suppose I was not yet at the griping stage of the crisis, but I am now. Certainly, the adventure grew over the course of the day.
Why was the basement flooded? Well, I'll tell you. Because this house sits on a funky little slope, the back door is set into a recessed cement alcove, a few feet below ground level. There's a drain in the bottom, which is why it didn't turn into a pond during Hurricane Irene. But what, you may wonder, if the drain were to clog, say with mud? Well last night, amid an intense but not special thunderstorm, we discovered the answer to that question.
There was mud. The back door is next to a closet and, beyond that, the laundry nook. The tile pattern on the floor in the closet has been completely obliterated by mud, to the point that I, who have had little business with that closet, did not realize it was not simply a brown floor. The laundry nook fared better because the water had to seep through a carpet to get there, and the carpet acted as a sort of filtration system. Unfortunately, the nook was strewn with more than a few things which interact badly with water: mostly the flowy things Girlfriend wears as she flounces and flits about. There were losses, some of which I hope are reversible, but I fear some items have flounced their last.
The room, which doubles as Girlfriend's bedroom, had become positively marshy. Interestingly, the water flowed in a mostly straight line from the door once it hit the rug; if it had spread evenly it would have ended up under Girlfriend's bed, but she was spared that. The slight slope of the floor directed the water in riverine fashion.
The situation cried out for a wet vac. Our need to get to Home Depot cried out for a car. As did we, when we got to the empty Zipcar space outside the Metro station. We stood around a while waiting for the car to arrive. We scoured the parking lot in case the last person had parked it in the wrong place. We called Zipcar for help. Eventually we discovered that the Zipcar at the Metro station was not the one we had reserved. That Zipcar was cleverly hidden in an apartment complex next to where they said it would be. The agent we got on the phone could tell us where it was, more or less, but not how to get there. With guesswork and perseverance, we ultimately found the car. It was as close as I have ever come to experiencing Skyrim in real life.
We got to Home Depot. We didn't buy a wet vac per se. Instead we bought a device which claimed to be able to turn a bucket into a wet vac, and also bought a bucket. While Girlfriend was returning the car to its nest, I was home getting a head start on the vacuuming. Sort of.
Someone had stolen the hose from the vacuum box and replaced it with a beef jerky wrapper.
Let me say that again. Someone had stolen the hose from the vacuum box and replaced it with a beef jerky wrapper. Where there should have been a four-foot-long black hose, there was none. Where there should not have been the empty wrapper of a dried meatsnack, there one was. I guess the tube is ventilating a meth lab somewhere.
Home Depot was very good about exchanging our box for one that had not been pillaged. Transportation for that endeavor (since Girlfriend had returned the Zipcar) was provided by Girlfriend's extremely helpful uncle, who had driven over to lend a dehumidifier. In fact he lent another wet vac as well.
With two wet vacs and a dehumidifier we set about reclaiming the wetland in our basement. Because it had been created by human construction, and because only a rudimentary ecosystem had developed, the paperwork was minimal.
On an wholly unrelated note, I acquired and dispatched another freelance gig this week. Hopefully, I can build some sort of momentum.
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