We didn't pass gas

Durwood, the plumbing inspector who also does gas lines (I guess because it's all pipes) was there just after I got to the house Wednesday morning.

It was our last bit of inspection before a Certificate of Occupancy, and the propane folks had already been here around 7 a.m. to hook up their gauges to show there were no leaks in the line.

Perhaps fine for you and me, but not for the Building Code here. Durwood said we had to have an emergency cutoff near the cooktop -- not, as I suggested, a turn of the valve at the top of Suburban's propane tank. He said Suburban forbade that, and he'd come back when we were ready.

I called Suburban, as you might imagine, and they sent out Adrian, who called another helper and said that if we had any sense we should turn off the tank valve if need be, and took the cooktop apart and found his predecessor had installed the emergency cutoff under floor level and deep inside the cabinet. So he put in a new cutoff, and we figured out where it would hit inside the island cabinets, and I called Matt, the electrician, to borrow his zip-cut tool so I could carve out a big, honking access hole.

Matt arrived just after inspectors' hours were over, and we cut through until we found the cutoff, and I called the inspection in yet again. It's probably Thursday.

During the day, the window washers were there, and the landscapers, as well as the gas guys. All of them wondered why I hadn't run up Duval Street screaming and brandishing a kitchen knife.

Actually, good question. Stumps me, too.