We're back with another Horror Story for our competition that begins today at 2pm. Polls will stay open for twenty-four hours.
I lived in an english basement, which loosely translated means subterranean terrarium. During the annual fall rains in DC, which was built on a swamp and many areas are below sea level, it was decided by an act of mother nature that the drainage system could no longer handle the amount of water wanting to get from the back of the house to the street and the only way to get there was through my bedroom and bathroom to the tune of 4 feet of water. Now 4 feet may seem like a little trickle to some, but when it's OVER your bed and up to the sleeves of your dress shirts, suits and covering all your shoes, it's a lot of water. While I had to trash alot of the items, it was with horror that the landlord said, once the water receded, that everything was fine. He didn't take into account the mold that would ensue and the stench that came with it as DC rolled into warmer weather months later. I eventually could no longer take living there seriously and had to move. I vowed then to never live underground again and now live in a penthouse, as far up as you can go in DC to get away from that potential disaster. An english basement is just that, dreary, damp and carries an accent.