The caustic soda was working. It was dissolving the clog—a monstrous tangle of bacon grease, potato peels, and a clump of her own long, gray hair. But the reaction was more violent than she’d anticipated. The pipe, old cast iron already pitted with rust, was not just being cleared. It was being eaten.
At first, nothing happened. Then the drain burped. A thin wisp of steam curled up from the sink, carrying a chemical bite that made her nose hairs curl. The sound that followed was not the gurgle of relief she expected. It was a low, deep crack , like ice breaking on a frozen lake, followed by a wet, tearing noise. caustic soda down drain
The plumber arrived at 7:00 AM, not because she called him, but because the neighbor two doors down reported a strange, chemical odor emanating from her basement window well. His name was Del, a man who had seen everything: tree roots through terra cotta, condoms and gold rings, the occasional rat skeleton. But when he descended her basement stairs, he stopped. The caustic soda was working
Del took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. “This isn’t a clog anymore,” he said. “This is a crime scene. You’ve got chemical burns on your pipes, your subfloor, and your foundation. Your house is digesting itself from the inside out.” The pipe, old cast iron already pitted with
