There's a gaping hole in our bathroom wall with a musty smell leaching out of it. The leak that caused it has been found and repaired . Now, I gotta clean up the mess. Try not to be jealous.
Bonus:
As a special treat, dear reader, you get to enjoy this whole action-filled post, shot completely from mere inches above the the bathroom floor!
I'd pulled two garbage bags of soaked insulation and drywall chunks from this fetid pit already. I tried fishing around with the shop vac, to clean out the rest of the debris, but it kept plugging up with the big chunks. The job really required a close-quarters, hands-on deployment.
I wanted an access hole where I could reach this junk up close. A permanent hatch would be awesome for future maintenance and repair. In fact, some comments on my earlier posts were incredulous that this house didn't already have them. But, there was no way Sweetie would let me install a hatch in the wall of our master bath, even if it is a seriously ugly room already. I'd have to open the top hole big enough to get my torso in there to reach down,.. or maybe I could dangle Gracie down by her ankles,...or...
I need to replace or reface this ugly 1979 cabinet, someday.
... the solution that was right in front of my knees, a hidden portion of wall space, right inside the vanity. I'd already ripped out all of the wall behind it, from above. That's it! This sucker is getting opened up. I'll hide an access hatch in there.
I crawled in, quickly bumped my head, and pencil-sketched a big square using a 2' level to keep it straight. I drilled some 3/4" holes right on the edge of the line, with a spade bit.
Drill baby, drill!
The holes would allow me to fit a saw blade and cut the square out, in two directions.
It was precisely at this time that I realized a hard scientific truth,... working this position really sucks. I'm not Andre the Giant, nor am I the size of Mr. Salty, the Planter's Peanut man. I'd probably be an inch shorter than an average man (5' 9½"), if it wasn't for my massive toaster-shaped cranium which pushes me up to my towering, above-average height of 5'10". Regardless, getting my mighty man-frame in that cabinet, while twitting my lower half around a toilet, with the raised edge of the cabinet floor digging into my kidney is what I submit qualifies as "sucks". Plus, it should be known,...I smacked my head.
I'm really glad I worked as an electrician years ago, instead of as a plumber. Seriously, do those guys purchase weekly package rates at the chiropractor?
"Geeeeeeghhht,....uuuughhhhh..."
- John the AZ DIY Pretzel
This working position further qualified as sucking in the second degree, due to the necessity of using loud power tools, intent on blasting sawdust in my face and my repeated head bonking.
This jig saw is first power tool I ever bought as a homeowner.
After, such a prolonged and delicate excavation, I knew truly how Howard Carter felt, as he opened the last barrier to King Tut's tomb and stepped into air never breathed by modern humans. I promptly cracked my head in the excitement.
What awesomeness would be found find in here?!
After yet ANOTHER complete failure in finding DB Cooper's millions or Blackbeard's treasure in a wall cavity, I started the long, slow cleanup. Seriously, not a single doubloon was to be found, just the little tornado fan I'd lowered from above blowing happily into the damp darkness.
Grumbling, and completely unencumbered by new-found riches, I dragged the vac hose with me into the tunnel and resumed the cleanup, dragging big chunks of moist refuse out with my hands. I bashed my head.
Why yes, those are Duluth Trading Company cargo shorts. Good eye.
Finally, it was cleaned out. I concocted a solution of water and a concentrated cleaning product I'd found at the home center. The lemon scented product claims to be a deodorizer, disinfectant, "mildewsat", and "virucide". I loaded it into the garden sprayer...
A good pump sprayer is more useful than you might think to have around the house.... slipped on a respirator, and climbed back into the hole, pausing only to whack my head briefly on the way in.
Only the second time I've used it, I'm really pleased how well a 3M Professional Multi-Purpose Respirator worked; I didn't kill my lungs breathing the solution that got sprayed inches from my head. It was comfortable and vented well, so I wasn't breathing my own stale air.
Finally, I've found breathing protection doesn't fog my glasses on the exhale. It's well worth the price to pick one up.
Fellow parents of inquisitive first graders will appreciate the next step. Only after I had finally fought myself into position without smacking my head (for once), gotten (uncomfortably) situated, and started spraying the solution, masked in my respirator, did Gracie come in behind me and begin her customary, ill-timed interrogation:
Gracie: Hey Daddy,.. what's that thing?
Me:mmmpthht, mmmght,...bphhhthtt
Gracie:Daddy, how old are you?
Me: mdnnt,..mdnnt.
Gracie: Can I have this?
Me: hmmmptwhpbbbbt?
Gracie: Then how old is Mommy?
Me: nnnnnt,..gnnn, mbee,...amphh yememph!
Gracie:I don't want to ask her myself. Who's older, you or mommy?
Me: Mmmp
Gracie: Does she know you are old?
Gracie: I'm just going to take this screw thing. Daddy?
Me: Nophh,..whmmmm bmmogh?
Gracie: It's sharp!
"... it's sharp?..."
Me: Nomph!
At that point, I had to start fighting my way backwards out of the cabinet, to see what the heck she had gotten into. Sweating and light-headed from yelling into a respirator and whacking my head for the umpteenth time, I found her happily holding a single drywall screw,...
"Yes, take the screw,...but only in the garage. Have a great time." Super Dad, eh?
I finished spraying the whole area down, added a second fan, and left the whole scene to dry for at least week before hustling out to the garage to see what sort of project / disaster was unfolding at the hands of the pint-sized, AZ DIY Girl. I could hear hammering already.