Involuntary labor.  Forced servitude.  Subjection.  Are we here discussing man’s inhumanity to man?  Nope.  The failure of my fuel oil tank.  How can we use these words, for this subject you say?

Wait, just wait till you hear the tale of woe.

It began one day when i went to check how much oil was left in the tank.  This is a normal operation at my house, as i do not have automatic oil fill up.  I call when i need oil, and to know if i do, the tank is checked with a stick, and the chart consulted to see how many gallons therein.

So as i am checking, i notice the cement under the tank is discolored, damp looking.  I think to myself, my sump pit must be full of water (at the other end of the tank).  Now since i have lived here there has only been water in the sump pit a few times.  Once, maybe twice, have i pumped water out.  But it does happen (rarely), in early spring.  So i quickly go look at the sump pit.  Nothing.  Empty.  Now back to the discolored cement spot.  Looking under the oil tank, there is a drop of oil hanging.  Drip.  Drip.  The discoloration is fuel oil.  Upon further inspection it looks like the tank may be leaking from both the end and the bottom.

So we did not call for any more oil.  I spread absorbent under the tank and placed a shallow pan to catch the drips.  Found a free oil tank on Craig’s List.  Enlisted the aid of my brother in law and got the new (used) tank home.  Then began the sorry chore of ‘making a path’ through my basement.  Some may know the legends of my basement.  The tale of woe begins . . . .