But, there are three things that I fear more than anything else. I mean even if these three things DIDN'T end up taking me to my meeting with St. Peter a little early, I don't want to experience them. Ever. They are, in no particular order:
- Being caught in a cave-in (which is why you'll never see me in Carlsbad caverns).
- Being electrocuted (I HATE that vibrate-y feeling of current running through my body. HATE!)
- Coming home and being greeted at the door by the smell of a gas leak. (Ever since Dixie got blown up by that albino special forces guy in the original "Lethal Weapon", I have been in awe of natural gas and it's awesome power. And special effects.)
Not in a "there's so much gas in here that i'm afraid of biting into a wintergreen lifesaver for fear of the spark" way. More of a "where is that COMING from?" way. A little investigation found that the source was behind the stove.
It should be noted that while i'm investigating all of this and sweating profusely from coming to grips to one of my top three fears, the Velogirl is in the house, doing laundry and just generally kicking some Sunday arse. When i mention to her that we probably have a gas leak, she casually says, "yeah--that's been annoying all day." and then returns to her list making. Let me make this clear: If i had been home alone and smelled gas, I would NOT have been so casual about it. Picture traffic cones surrounding the house, a swat team on the roof, and me, 6 blocks away, coordinating house rescue efforts from a local taqueria where I can stress eat tacos and try to convince myself that everything will be fine, while petting the fur off the wonderdog.
So...yeah. The Velogirl is not only really easy on the eyes, she's also really, really tough. Later in the day, after the ordeal is behind us, she will reveal to me that she was feeling lightheaded all day but couldn't put her finger on why. Bad. Ass.
Back to the sitch...
I stop panicking for a moment and call the gas company, and they tell me that someone is coming out to check on it today. In the meantime, I escort the family to the front porch where we can wait out of harm's way. In a few minutes, a guy shows up and checks the house--turns out that the cutoff valve behind the stove had come a wee bit loose. Oh, and the line between the valve and the stove had two separate holes in it. Hmm...not good.
I am relieved and angered at this point. Relieved that it wasn't worse. Angered that I'm going to have to figure out how to fix all this junk back there. I try to convince the gas guy to tighten the connection to the cutoff valve, which he does. He was a real nice guy, it should be said.
The next step is spending some time Monday going to the hardware store and installing a new gas line to the stove. Not a huge deal, obviously. But, I am NOT handy. So, it took me two trips to the hardware store and alot of deep sighing to get the right size hose with the right sized connections.
The good news? Gas smell is now gone, the stove no longer has the red tag of death on it from the gas company. AND, I know the difference between a 5/8 and 3/4 inch connection. Look at me! I just got 15% handier.
While living in Virginia our furnace blower came on and the entire house smelled of gas (a fear of mine, too, BTW). Called the gas company and the next thing we knew, we had four fire trucks, one paramedic truck and three police cars lined up and down our street. Once they had installed the Klieg lights on the lawn (of course this was in the wee hours of the morning), the firemen went in, snooped around and came back out to announce that the smell was gasoline. Our lawn mower had sprung a leak and, a tiny fact I didn't know, it absorbed into the cement floor of the garage, through the walls of the basement and into the rest of the house. The best part of the story is that after telling us we had nothing to fear, they announced "Nice basement." Our neighbors made fun of us for weeks.
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