I’D HAVE BETTER CHANCES STANDING IN FRONT OF A FIRING SQUAD. Jumping out of an airplane with a fried egg for a parachute. Having a surgeon who feels it necessary to sacrifice a chicken before operating. Any of those, please, but having to deal with a plumber about a leaking pipe.
Just shoot me now.
The only good part of that scenario was that it wasn’t our house. I was being helpful.
My Sister-in-law who really is, but isn’t my Sister-in-law, but is (long story) was the one with the wayward water.
Down in the basement of her circa 1920 house there was a pipe coming up out of the floor that had water creeping higher and higher…and overflowing. Not a good sign.
She had called a local plumbing cartel and made arrangements for them to come by the house the next day (It was not a geyser, so…)/ the snag in this plan was that she had to be in Chicago the next day.
Enter Krafty – the obvious choice to face the Buttcrack Brigade.