So yesterday I had valiant battle against some duct work.
Owing to Scott having to work yesterday, I had put in all the duct work under the trailer by myself. There was a lot of cursing, and unnecessary anger. I manged to stab myself in every finger in my right hand at at least once.
My day started off at 7am, and at exactly 7:45 I realized that Scott had purchased round duct work yesterday, but somehow it never occurred to me that he didn't assemble any of it. Now round duct comes loose, in that you have to snap it together into a tube. This is ridiculously hard to do. Fortunately luck was kinda in my corner. Most of the ducts went together nicely. However every fourth or fifth duct, the sides would slip out of the groove and a tear a lovely gouge out of my finger. If you are wondering why I was not wearing gloves, the answer is I was wearing gloves. Duct work is like a circular razor blade, in that it thirsts at all times for human blood.
I congratulated myself on the assembly, had a cup of tea, and prepared for round two, actually installing the damn stuff. Now what you have to understand here is that mobile* homes are not made to have an wood stove sitting in a shed out back. Meaning that none of the vents are anywhere near conveniently located.
It pretty much took me all day. The space under the trailer was enough that I could crouch over and kneel, but that was about it. Also, I had to install the ducts in a very specific order, because when the last duct went in I would not longer be able to get in there any longer.
I'm not sure if you have ever used self tapping metal screws before, but let me put it this way, it takes for ever for one to sink and then most likely it has only gone though the outer layer meaning you have to do the whole thing all over again. At one point I was sitting on my ass, holding a section on ductwork up with my foot, one arm around it, trying to screw on a piece of pipe, and thought that I might end up punching the next person in the face who talks about being able to sit around in their underwear on their days off.
I have cold air returns crossing over hot pipes, and three elbow joints hooked together like the tin man had just broken his leg and it was terrible compound fracture, but it got installed god damn it. I had to custom cut some pieces, but it all worked out and I had enough parts, and for that I am very thankful.
I choose to celebrate my badassery (and also the pain in my hands) by getting drunk. This seemed like a great idea until I realized that I hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast. Also I came to the conclusion that, if you are already a crappy cook, getting drunk will not help with that.
Which is how I ended up stabbing myself with a fork.
* If you are from West Virgina you are legally obligated to pronounce it mo-bile.
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