The Shit Pipe Saga
When I found out that my offer on the house had been accepted last week, I promised myself that I wouldn't get too excited about the purchase and its possibilities until I had done the whole home inspection thing. I'd heard nightmares from friends. Even if the house was relatively new or looked great, there was always a litany of problems awaiting once the inspector fastened on his tool belt and unsheathed his Maglight. These things are just never pretty.
Last night, on the eve of my inspection, I reminded myself that the process would be traumatizing and I should resign myself to days of disappointment and worry. (Sometimes I work better when I have extraordinarily low expectations. I'm a Pirates fan, so I learned to employee this theory at an early age.) Anyway, I hoped for the best, but I was secretly worried that the inspector would whip off his hat, wipe his sweaty brow and declare the place unfit to live in. I imagined something like, "Are you ridiculous?!?! Don't you know how old this place is and the amount of work it needs? RUN AWAY NOW!!!"
(Actually, I didn't worry so secretly. I told a few people about that fear and they looked at me like I should be medicated. That's when I learned to keep it a little more secret.)
The inspection itself, though, started out pretty pleasantly. NonBoyfriend (aka McNavy) came along for moral support (I bought him dinner, though) and the inspector was nice and very teacherly. I not only had my (possibly future) home inspected, I learned how to turn the gas off at the meter, run a gas line to the kitchen or dryer, the theory behind how a trap works, and the ins and outs of his nifty digital voice recorder. It was actually all going swimmingly.
Until the shit literally hit the pipe.
So the most traumatic part of the inspection, I think, is the moment you turn on the water. The inspector gave the ol' meter a turn, gave McNavy instructions to run to the bathroom and "make sure nothing is exploding" and told me to do the same with the kitchen. I laughed, but got a proper fatherly set-down, telling me that it wasn't funny. Toilets have exploded. Sinks have erupted. Kitchens have flooded. Yikes.
Everything was going OK until McNavy flushed the toilet. I was talking to the inspector in the basement (I'd run to the kitchen and back down again) and suddenly a rainstorm erupted in the basement. I looked at him; he looked at me. Then we both looked at the stack (or "shit pipe" as I like to call it). Water was coming in everywhere where the stack disappeared into the basement ceiling. (For those who know about my bathroom ceiling caving in a month ago, it was eerily similar. Water everywhere. But this time it was pooh water and not just from Drunken Neighbor on a binge deciding to take a bath and let the tub run.)
McNavy came back down to the basement just as the water stopped raining down from the ceiling. Then he ran back up to the kitchen (this is the reason I need to keep him around) and noticed faint water marks on the ceiling tiles and old water stains on the curtains, where there's been some drips hitting. It turns out, the stack is probably leaking at the elbow below its juncture with the toilet. And it's going to cost a few thousand bucks to replace. (Probably.)
The good news in all this is that I haven't bought the place yet and I can negotiate with the seller on who's going to pay what to have it fixed. The bad news (the news I could kick myself in the ass for) is that I chose an option in the offer contract that makes me responsible for a certain dollar amount of repairs (like a deductible, really). And, sadly, it now turns out that I made that dollar figure too high. I was so confused by that part of the contract and I guess I was overly optimistic about things that would or would not need to be fixed by closing. So now, I'm up shit creek a little bit...waiting for my paddle.
I need to get a plumber in to give me an estimate. After that I need to figure out how to proceed. I still really want the house and that shit pipe problem was the only major thing the inspector found that needs to be repaired ASAP. In fact, he said it was a good house with appliances that are in excellent shape. I should get 10 to 15 more years from the roof, the same from the hot water tank and at least 20 years from the new furnace.
But try as I might to focus on the positives, I still feel pretty gross about the whole thing.
Stupid shit pipe.
Last night, on the eve of my inspection, I reminded myself that the process would be traumatizing and I should resign myself to days of disappointment and worry. (Sometimes I work better when I have extraordinarily low expectations. I'm a Pirates fan, so I learned to employee this theory at an early age.) Anyway, I hoped for the best, but I was secretly worried that the inspector would whip off his hat, wipe his sweaty brow and declare the place unfit to live in. I imagined something like, "Are you ridiculous?!?! Don't you know how old this place is and the amount of work it needs? RUN AWAY NOW!!!"
(Actually, I didn't worry so secretly. I told a few people about that fear and they looked at me like I should be medicated. That's when I learned to keep it a little more secret.)
The inspection itself, though, started out pretty pleasantly. NonBoyfriend (aka McNavy) came along for moral support (I bought him dinner, though) and the inspector was nice and very teacherly. I not only had my (possibly future) home inspected, I learned how to turn the gas off at the meter, run a gas line to the kitchen or dryer, the theory behind how a trap works, and the ins and outs of his nifty digital voice recorder. It was actually all going swimmingly.
Until the shit literally hit the pipe.
So the most traumatic part of the inspection, I think, is the moment you turn on the water. The inspector gave the ol' meter a turn, gave McNavy instructions to run to the bathroom and "make sure nothing is exploding" and told me to do the same with the kitchen. I laughed, but got a proper fatherly set-down, telling me that it wasn't funny. Toilets have exploded. Sinks have erupted. Kitchens have flooded. Yikes.
Everything was going OK until McNavy flushed the toilet. I was talking to the inspector in the basement (I'd run to the kitchen and back down again) and suddenly a rainstorm erupted in the basement. I looked at him; he looked at me. Then we both looked at the stack (or "shit pipe" as I like to call it). Water was coming in everywhere where the stack disappeared into the basement ceiling. (For those who know about my bathroom ceiling caving in a month ago, it was eerily similar. Water everywhere. But this time it was pooh water and not just from Drunken Neighbor on a binge deciding to take a bath and let the tub run.)
McNavy came back down to the basement just as the water stopped raining down from the ceiling. Then he ran back up to the kitchen (this is the reason I need to keep him around) and noticed faint water marks on the ceiling tiles and old water stains on the curtains, where there's been some drips hitting. It turns out, the stack is probably leaking at the elbow below its juncture with the toilet. And it's going to cost a few thousand bucks to replace. (Probably.)
The good news in all this is that I haven't bought the place yet and I can negotiate with the seller on who's going to pay what to have it fixed. The bad news (the news I could kick myself in the ass for) is that I chose an option in the offer contract that makes me responsible for a certain dollar amount of repairs (like a deductible, really). And, sadly, it now turns out that I made that dollar figure too high. I was so confused by that part of the contract and I guess I was overly optimistic about things that would or would not need to be fixed by closing. So now, I'm up shit creek a little bit...waiting for my paddle.
I need to get a plumber in to give me an estimate. After that I need to figure out how to proceed. I still really want the house and that shit pipe problem was the only major thing the inspector found that needs to be repaired ASAP. In fact, he said it was a good house with appliances that are in excellent shape. I should get 10 to 15 more years from the roof, the same from the hot water tank and at least 20 years from the new furnace.
But try as I might to focus on the positives, I still feel pretty gross about the whole thing.
Stupid shit pipe.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home