The Inspection
Great moments in building history: So much for that pristine record
I grew up on carpentry, became a residential remodeling contractor and eventually decided to try my hand at inspecting homes. One of my early inspections was on a sunny summer morning. By the time my clients, the home buyers, and two Realtors arrived, I had already inspected the home’s exterior. The buyers’ Realtor knew my work and had recommended my services. As he unlocked the front door, he proceeded to introduce me as “the right man for the job. Our office has worked with him many times. He does a bang-up job.”
My head began to swell. I felt as if I had to show my clients that this flattery had substance. To my advantage, the house was simple, fairly new and nicely kept. It was a routine job. I would have no problem performing a professional inspection that would make a lasting impression.
I finished inspecting the living area and proceeded upstairs to the bedrooms and baths. I started in the master bath. I turned on the tub and sink faucets to check water pressure and drainage. One of the cardinal rules of inspecting, of course, is never to leave the bathroom while a sink faucet is running. So I left the bathroom with the faucet running and started checking over the bedroom.
When I returned to the master bath, I was aghast to see water all over the bath floor. I hoped that maybe, just possibly, I had arrived in time to prevent disaster. I turned off the water and threw all the towels in sight on the floor. Then, trying to be inconspicuous, I went downstairs to see if water was leaking into the dining room below. I got lucky: The dining room was dry, and my credibility was intact.
I returned to clean up the master bath. At that point—perhaps out of an instinct for doom—I opened the vanity cabinet doors, and there, hiding like a great family secret, was a sea of water flooding the bottom of the cabinet and filling the drawers. Everything in the drawers was floating. A flotilla of bathroom sundries—jars, boxes, Band-Aids—got soggier with each passing second. Then I realized just how much water had overflowed: Water had probably seeped below the bath floor and was just about to come through the dining-room ceiling.
Trying to remain cool and professional—pretty much impossible at a time of unbridled panic—I dashed downstairs to find water flowing through the light fixture onto an oak dining table. The Realtors and the buyer stood there, witnessing a first-class deflating of their inspector’s ego. Later, when I wrote my inspection report, I correctly noted the plugged bath sink.
So much for the auspicious start to my new career as an inspector. Soon after that incident, I found myself back in my remodeling-contractor duds, rolling out paint on a certain water-damaged dining-room ceiling.
—Ron Gay, Pontiac, MI
Drawing by: Jackie Rogers
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