As a new homeowner, it's a sinking feeling to realize that whatever may be going wrong in my new home is solely my responsibility. In order to cope, I've developed a checklist, helping me identify what the problem is and the action(s) required to fix it. The checklist is as follows:
Painting required:
Call Dad.
Taps making funny noises at night:
Obvious paranormal activity. Do nothing to aggravate the spirits.
Fridge is loud:
Open fridge door for investigative purposes. Eat something. Repeat as necessary.
Laminate flooring strip lifting:
Catch with toe. Curse. Repeat. Cover with rug. Tap in place with foot.
Light fixture needs changing:
Call Dad.
Nearly everything that can go wrong in my home is covered by similarly well-developed contingency plans, but when I walked into my bedroom late one night and smelled gas, I was at a loss.
My first instinct was to ignore the gas smell, but no matter where I stood or what angle I held my nose I could smell it. I sniffed the window, hoping that a tanker had overturned outside on the front lawn, absolving me of all responsibility. The smell wasn't coming from outside.
I sniffed my laundry pile, as perhaps my steady diet of fattening food and white wine when combined with a painfully slow metabolism and daily use of allergy meds, somehow led to my sweat glands producing gasoline. No such luck.
Next I sniffed my bedroom closet, where I was afraid the smell had been coming from all along. My hot water tank and all manner of wiring and plumbing for my washer and dryer fight for space there with my clothes and shoes. And now the whole mess smelled like I should be able to hook it up to my car and stand there contemplating whether I should run inside for a bottle of water and bag of chips, and why the goddamned price always jumps when I'm running nearly empty.
Needless to say, this was some serious shit that was not on my checklist.
I left the room, and then walked back in to determine whether the smell was simply my imagination, or even better, a sign of a stroke. At least I would know what to do if I was having a stroke. The smell was still there, and consciously so was I. Dammit.
It was 1:30 a.m., I was exhausted and in need of some serious help. I needed an instruction manual. Luckily, the previous owners left me more than just clogged drains and some really questionable carpet stains. Stashed in one of the kitchen cupboards was a stack of manuals I had been using to store my spices on.
At the very top of the pile, a manual for my washer and dryer. On the front cover in bold letters: What To Do If You Smell Gas. It was like the manufacturer was right there with me.
I wouldn't even have to turn to the table of contents - everything I needed to know was in bolded block letters in a fancy shadow box, with graphic arrows pointing to the text should the gas fumes presumably overwhelm me and my vision start to blur.
For your safety the information in this manual must be followed to minimize the risk of fire or explosion or to prevent property damage, personal injury or loss of life.
Loss of life? Explosion? Aren't they laying this on a little thick? Did I have to choose this night to stay up late watching the Colbert Report? I'm just too tired to have an explosion right now.
Do not store or use gasoline or other flammable vapors and liquid in the vicinity of this or any other appliance.
Oh. Crap. Does Febreze count as a flammable vapor? What about Spray and Wash?? Dear God, I'm going to die, all because of Spray and Wash.
Do not try to light any appliance
What does that even mean? How do I light an appliance?? I turn them on or off -- I don't light them. I don't even know what this means. I am totally screwed.
Do not touch any electrical switch; do not use any phone in your building
Any phone at all? What if the dude upstairs decides to call for a pizza? Sweet Christ on a cracker, please nobody call for a pizza.
Clear the room, building or area of all occupants
The entire building? Seriously?? I live in a condo building, and it's 1:30 a.m. I am not knocking on these people's doors. At least if they get blowed up, they won't know what hit them, and the really hot strata council president will never have to see me on his doorstep in my Winnie the Pooh boxing shorts. A happy afterlife ensues for everybody.
Immediately call your gas supplier from a neighbor's phone. Follow the gas supplier's instructions.
Well which is it, people? I can't call from my neighbor's phone because I'm supposed to be evacuating them. My building is sandwiched between an apartment complex whose residents all seem to prefer giant pirate flags covering their windows as opposed to curtains, and a house where I'm pretty sure I can purchase meth. I'm also pretty sure the residents of that house have all seen me naked, because I went for quite some time without curtains. Or a pirate flag. Also, who in the hell is my gas supplier? I suppose I could look that up, but that may mean lighting my laptop.
If you cannot reach your gas supplier, call the fire department.
Oh HELL no. For all four of my long-time readers and the legal team I should really have on stand-by...just no. Really, no. Although it pains me, because I do love a man in uniform...no.
Strong, decisive action was needed. This was my time to do the right thing in a life and death decision. I could save lives. I could be a hero, featured on the front page of the newspaper, credited with saving an entire neighborhood from certain blazing death.
Or I could open all the windows in my bedroom and go to bed, which is what I did. I may be brain damaged or dead in the morning, but I had an important work meeting to go to and death or brain damage would certainly make it more bearable. I struggled with setting my alarm clock. Would this constitute lighting the appliance? Would the alarm going off lead to me being enveloped in a fireball? I would find out at 6:25 a.m.
The alarm went off and I was alive. If there was brain damage, I really couldn't tell the difference. Even better, I couldn't smell any gas. I did hesitate before switching on my hair straightener, as this seemed an indirect violation of touching an electrical switch, but my bangs were looking really ridiculous.
I really couldn't concentrate at work, feeling that perhaps there was something more I should do about the gas leak situation. Something very important that hadn't occurred to me the night before in my exhaustion, and I left work early to take care of it in a hurry.
The insurance agent was very helpful, and it took no time at all to double the value of my possessions and increase my coverage. Finally, some piece of mind.
And yet, something still nagged at me. When I got home, it was still standing, and I took this as a positive sign. Just to be on the safe side, I had figured out which gas company to call, and was pleased when a real live person answered the special phone line to report gas leaks. I'm not sure why this task had seemed so difficult the night before, but better late than never.
I explained the situation to the woman on the other line, who wanted to know when I detected this smell. I told her I smelled it the night before, but it was gone now. But if they weren't doing anything, maybe they could still stop by. She seemed rather taken aback.
According to the woman, I should have called immediately. I really shouldn't have waited a day. I told her I understood her position, but I had some things I had to do. Silence on the other line, and then she told me to get out of the house, and go wait in the lobby. And so I did.
There's a couch in our lobby, and so I took a book and waited. The gas guy showed up very quickly, and I'm relieved to report that I don't find all men in uniform attractive.
I apologized profusely for not actually having a smell to direct him toward anymore, but it seemed prudent to call anyway. He agreed, but was dubious. It was very frustrating - like when trying to describe to a mechanic the clicking noise you keep hearing, but when he starts the car it sounds like a happy kitten.
He waved a wand at my closet - no readings. He waved a wand at the only appliance in my condo that requires gas, which is my fireplace -- in my living room, and nowhere near my bedroom. Apparently my washer and dryer can be wired for gas, but are not. Regardless, no gas. There was absolutely nothing emitting gas in my apartment. I couldn't have even passed gas if I tried at the time.
It was a relief. The crisis had been averted. I had saved the day, by doing nothing at all, which is what was required, as it turns out. Perhaps this home ownership thing will work out after all.
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