Friday is garbage day on my street. I don’t always put my cans out because I compost and recycle like a mad woman so I only have garbage maybe every other week. My recycling can is gigantic so it takes a few weeks to fill it enough to make it worth my while to schlep it out to the curb.
My reluctance to put the cans out may have something to do with forgetting to do it first thing when I get home Thursday evening and only remembering after I have removed my bra a donned something I wouldn’t be caught dead in outside where the neighbors can see me.
Or not getting up early enough to put them out before the trucks come by Friday morning.
But we’re not going to examine either of those mitigating factors. Or do I mean aggravating circumstances? Whichever. Please ignore these three paragraphs. Ahem.
So Friday morning I back out of the garage and see my neighbors’ bins at the curb. A quick perusal of the spacial orientation of the green bins in relation to 1) the other bins, and 2) the curb, as well as determining the lids are either fully closed or propped slightly open indicating they are still full – as opposed to the lid thrown back completely indicating overzealousness on the part of the green waste truck mechanical arm when flinging the bin back to the curb – I determine the truck has not yet come by.
As I schlep the bin out to the curb, I pass my gas meter located just outside my gate and think maybe, perhaps, quite possibly, I smell gas…but I’m not really sure. Oddly enough, it’s stronger inside the gate where I store my cans, at which point I decide, yes, it’s definitely gas.
OMG IT’S DEFINITELY GAS. GAS LEAK! OMG OMG OMG!
Naturally I left for work, after first starting my car back up and initiating the closing of the electric garage door mechanism. It did not occur to me until much later I ran the risk of blowing myself up with either of those actions.
I did not remember to call PG&E until around 10:30 because, you know, listening to an audio book for the 7-minute drive to the office made me completely forget my house could blow up at any time. It was not until I was outside on a smoke break with my friend Micky – which I only do at work, and only with Micky, and only because she supports my closet smoking habit since I refuse to buy cigarettes on my own anymore, not that I’m defensive about my disgusting not-so-secret vice in any way at all – that I remembered my next door neighbor also goes outside to smoke. Oh. Dear. I ran inside and called PG&E.
The 800 number has a special button to push just to report gas leaks or downed power lines. Phone Girl sounded about 12 years old but she was very nice and told me gas leaks receive the highest priority for service calls.
But they can still only give me an “all day” window.
And I have to be home when the technician arrives.
And they can’t call me when they’re on their way, which would allow me to stay at work until then and only leave when their arrival is imminent.
For crying out loud, even Comcast will call you with a 10 minute head start! Bother.
So I schlep some work binders home and telecommute for 2 hours until the PG&E guy shows up for my “high priority” appointment. Good thing nothing blew up in the meantime.
Did I mention Phone Girl advised me not to use any electricity, including activating my garage door opener? Just to mess with her – but also because it was true – I told her I forgot my key that morning so the only way I could get into my house was through the garage. If I couldn’t use the garage door opener, yet I had to go home and wait for the technician because they refused to call me when he was on his way, that meant I would have to sit outside in 100 degree weather until he arrived. Which might not be for hours.
It was most amusing to listen to her try to stay on script and repeat her advice not to use any electricity while also telling me of course they don’t want me to sit outside in 100 degree weather but I do have to be there when the technician arrives.
I activated the garage door opener when I got home: nothing blew up.
I turned on my computer so I could keep working: nothing blew up.
I may even have turned on a fan or two.
The technician was friendly and found a small leak on the first try with his detector. He got slight readings in several other areas so decided to replace the entire meter, which would only take about half an hour. But after he did that, he still detected gas and determined there was a ground leak.
GAH!
No problem, he said, I could go back to work and he would wait for the tunnel rats. That was around 1:45.
When I got home at 4:15, two sweaty gentlemen in bright orange vests were chest deep in a trench in my side yard. When I said hello and asked how it was going, one said they finally found the leak. He was quite excited, in an “I’m so hot and exhausted, thank god we found it, now we can fix it and get the hell out of here” kind of way.
Turns out one of the connectors was damaged where the main gas line from the street branches off to me and my neighbor. I said “no” when Phone Girl asked me if there had been any recent construction in the area but later I remembered the prior homeowners planted an apricot tree right about where the problem turned out to be. It was huge and messy so I removed it shortly after I moved in about 3 years ago. I didn’t think to ask how long the leak may have been going before it finally worked its way up through the earth to the surface. Best not to mention the whole tree/stump removal thing, I thought.
The technician from earlier in the day came back to turn the gas back on and light my various pilot lights. I asked if his gas detector might have been registering the gas in the air from the ground leak and not from my meter so he gave me a brand new meter for nothing. Then we laughed.
I do so love improvements and major construction work to my house that doesn’t cost me a penny.
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