No it has not been foggy here. It has been raining and then damp.
Tomorrow they are predicting snow. Just a little bit.
It is not supposed to be like all of the big blizzards we have managed to avoid so far this year.
The FOG I refer to is from work.
Shorthand for Fats, Oils and Grease.
The bane of sewer systems everywhere.
I knew that our area was starting a campaign against FOG this year.
Apparently this is a world wide thing. Who knew.
Enjoy this little ditty from the London sewers.
We don’t have any sewers large enough to stand up in.
Slide through on a skateboard maybe, but only before they are put into use.
Raincharm's Weblog 
December 29, 2010 at 6:43 am |
our jobs are a world apart, and yet…. as I look out the window it is very foggy. fog – like fine mist. not liek fats, oils and grease – that’s just gross.
December 29, 2010 at 9:46 am |
Reminds me of a story from back in our first apartment in St. Louis. The cast of characters included the woman in 1A, who was hosting a dinner party, the man in 1B, who let her borrow his stove, and me, from 2A, who lent her a large spaghetti pot.
Woman: Do you have a large pot I could borrow?
Me: Yes.
We both go downstairs with the pot
Woman: (knocking on 1B’s door) Would you mind if I borrowed your stove today? See I’m hosting a dinner party, but my gas is turned off. I hate paying those bills for $1.27 and $3.10 and so I usually wait a couple of months and let them accumulate, but I went one too many months.
Man: Uh, sure.
Woman: It won’t take very long. I just have to brown the hamburger, add the jar of sauce, and boil the pasta.
Man: Uh, sure.
(So she proceeds to brown the hamburger and bring the spaghetti water to a boil. At some point the man opens his refrigerator to reveal a classic bachelor set up of mustard, ketchup, a six-pack of beer, and very little else.)
Woman: There, the hamburger is done!
(She pours the grease down the drain. The man and I look at each other shocked.)
Me: Don’t you pour it into a can?
Woman: Nah, I always do it this way. It never blocks up.
See. (turns on water, which backs up.)
Man: Oh, great.
(He disappears, and comes back with a bucket, a pipe wrench and the biggest crescent wrench I’d ever seen, outside of battleship museums.)
Man: Various mutters and grunts as he crawls under the sink… There, got it.
(He appears with the U-bend from the sink, and pushes a clot of F.O.G. out of the bend, into the trash.)
Woman: Oh, I’m so sorry, I swear it never does that at home.
Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “I’m so happy she just asked me for the spaghetti pot, and not the stove, because I have neither the tools nor the knowledge to take apart the sink!”
The end