OK – the headline is perhaps a bit hyperbolic – but that’s how I feel every time I have to descend to the stygian depths of my basement to use my table saw and chop saw (or do laundry, for that matter).
During lunch yesterday, I glued up the shelves for my upper cabinets (plywood with a 1″ strip of maple on the front), but I miscalculated the clearance for the shelf supports by about 1/16″. Ugh. That meant a trip below (I didn’t want to plane down by hand a) plywood and b) 10 shelves).
No natural light (that door is a bitch to get open, and it’s at the bottom of a steep stairwell that seems to act as a black hole), a damp floor and walls with even the threat of rain (so I wipe with oil the blades and other metal bits of my power tools every few days), few outlets (so lots of extension cords over which to trip) and a dank, earthy smell. (The cast iron bathtub is a nice touch, eh?).
This – more so than my hand tools sharing a room on the second floor with my computer – is a major impetus for wanting a new home with room for a proper shop.