My approach to plumbing is the same as my approach to watching French avant-garde movies.
I run as fast as I can in the
opposite direction.
Yesterday, necessity forced me
to attempt an emergency plumbing repair.
I tried, but could not reach my plumber.
And calling what I did a “plumbing repair” is something along the lines
of calling Steven Seagal a gifted actor.
Let’s have some background
here.
Yesterday, I discovered that
the very first plumbing fitting connecting the polyethylene pipe from my well
to the metal piping in my house was leaking.
Squirting madly, actually. The
fitting was rotten. I recall not liking
the steel fitting when I installed it thirty years ago. I wanted to use brass at the time, but could
not find the fitting required in brass.
The fitting is located in my raw-earth
crawlspace. A large pool of water had
formed around the fitting and was seeping into the earth without any harm to my
house.
After shutting down the water
and well pump, I devised a quick,
questionable fix. I would squirt a pile
of silicone sealer on couple of vinyl gloves, wrap the gloves around the
fitting, and then wrap that mess up under a few layers of duct tape.
If duct tape can save Apollo
space capsules, certainly my plumbing had a chance.
And in the end?
Still leaked.
I am, more or less, without
water.
The Leak
Vinyl Glove and Silicone
(Almond Color)
All Wrapped
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