There are many reasons to be a homeowner: setting down roots, not throwing away money month after month in rent, owning, you know... something. I have not arrived at the point in my life what necessitates home ownership, and I am glad of it, especially when it comes to my little house.
When I arrived home from work the other evening, I was faced with a situation that made me relieved to not own the place in which I live.
As soon as I walked in the door, a musty, dirty smell hit my nostrils. Clearly, it was sewage. Grand! With my landlord wintering in North Carolina, I had no other choice but to creep into the basement myself.
Now, my house is a cute little thing, with an apartment on the first floor, and an open-concept loft on the second. I live in the loft, and usually there is a tenant downstairs. With no one there this winter, I have been alone. It's been awesome, actually, what with not having to worry about stomping around too much, or having music too loud.
But the basement is another story. It is set up like a makeshift apartment, with a weird toilet on a pedestal, a sink, and room after room filled with shelves of strange old appliances and shitty romance novels, as well as racks upon racks of clothing. My landlord lived down there for a few months when there was a tenant on the first floor, and I honestly have no idea how she did it. She described the basement as "Greenwich Village-ish." I'm not totally sure what that means, other than that some people in NYC live in compete and utter weirdness.
So anyway, the pedestal toilet. It... had overflowed, as you may have guessed. The sewage had backed up and soaked the floor. The carpeted floor, of course. It was grand.
The plumber came that evening and snaked the hell out of the system, but Lord, does it still smell. After a few hours, you get used to it, but it's not something I really want to be dealing with much longer.
Still, at least I don't have to pay for it.