My roommate Graham was telling me about an invention he was working on with some colleagues. They'd bought him a drill press, and he casually mentioned that it was "down in the workshop." I'd lived in this house for several months, so naturally I asked, "We have a workshop?" He walked me down into the basement and into a darkened room. He swung his arms in the dark until making contact with a single hanging bulb, and then he pulled the chain next to it. The light showed a small tidy room with some shelves, a workbench, and a lot of tools. I poked around a bit, then turned to head back upstairs. On the way I passed a door that looked like it hadn't been opened in ages, but in the spirit of finding out about the workshop, I gave the door a shove. It opened into a garage underneath our house that I didn't know we had access to, and in it was one of my other roommate's broken down Ford Mustangs. I imagine its the same feeling people get when they find out that some caves on their property contain ancient drawings.