Okay, actually, nothing exploded. Even though I may have, at one point today, run bodily through some brush, dived, and covered my head for fear of spontaneous combustion.
Seriously, I did not. (Despite what you may or may not hear from other people.) But we did have our first big disaster adventure at the Memorial House today. It involved a trench, a shovel, and a gas line. And now I can tell you from experience that possibly the most ominous sound a person could ever hear as they drive a shovel into the ground while digging a trench, is the explosive hiss of natural gas all of the sudden rising from the bowels of the earth.
The one thing I do have to say for the gas company is that while they will keep you on hold for forty-five minutes while trying to get your service switched over, they are fairly prompt when you tell them your gas line is spewing a highly-flamable substance into the air.
So originally my post was going to be how I got to stand hip deep in a 6″ wide trench and haul material out one handfull at a time (since I’m the only one of the two of us who can fit in a 6″ wide trench), but instead you get to hear about just how fast my ass can exit a hip-deep 6″ wide trench (.00576 seconds), and how for 3 hours after that I wouldn’t get within 150 feet of the house.
Listen, I’m a little crazy with power tools, but I don’t do eletrocution or explosion, okay? I saw what happened in Die Hard, and No. Thanks.
I also couldn’t get a picture of said trench because I was dead certain that the flash would cause a chain-reaction of fireballs, the likes of which haven’t been seen since Backdraft was first in theaters.
All of that excitement aside, I think we’re finally purchasing a roof for the gas station tomorrow. And we need advice from all of you fine people on what the hell to do with the attic… But that’s another story for another day.