Earlier this week, I went into a house at the request of a bank. The real estate agent that was generating a BPO (Broker Price Opinion) for them and became worried about what she saw. Not having a lot of training in some of the oddities of inspection but possessing abundant common sense, she told the bank to hire an inspector to evaluate the property.
That was me.
It didn’t take more than a few seconds to go from normal inspector mode to “don’t touch a thing” mode. It was that bad. The odor, bitter and strong, hit me hard at the front door. The kitchen was to the right and the rolling smoke stains told the story of repeated cooking.
The bath tub was etched and scarred, abused by all the chemicals that got dumped down the drain.
Chemical stains were everywhere.
Unfortunately, there were no chemical bottles present except for a pair of oxygen bottles. I think they were used for transport of anhydrous ammonia. Anyone taking a hit off the tanks would like be dead. The meth cooks have used propane tanks for years to disguise their ingredients. I think they are evolving again.
The most disturbing part of the process was finding a bedroom door with a lock hasp on the outside.
The meth cooks had kids and were locking them up.
Sometimes I get to see a little too much.