Sunday, October 19, 2008

Oh, Poo. (The Curfew.)

I was quickly able to ascertain that “Frank the Septic Guy” had not held this title for very long.



Gag me with a spoon.

That said, Frank followed me into the garage to look for “the line”. Funny thing about this…I was looking for an actual line…as opposed to the seasoned professional…who realizes it’s a pipeline we’re looking for.


In the end, it really didn’t matter…as neither one of us could find it.

After a quick second call to Bob-the-homeowner, “the line” (AKA the pipe sticking out of the cement and half-covered by an unopened box of Christmas ornaments and two packages of 60-watt light bulbs) was eventually located.

Back outside we walked, as Frank explained the technical nuances of “tracing the trajectory ratio of ‘the line’, which when computed by the equator’s equinox divided by pi will construct the correlation between the position of the underground tank and the yellow grass existing above it.”

“Huh.” I replied…as I’d stopped listening after the word “trajectory”.

Evidently, poop emits heat…thereby causing the grass to wither and die. I’ll bet THAT’S one tidbit of information you’re happy to now know.

You’re welcome.

And so once again, after some haphazardly-navigated measuring (with his foot used as an approximate 12-inch ruler) Frank began plunging and rocking and doing the jiggity-jig in an effort to find the underground key to the…ahem…kingdom.

An hour later, he’d placed nearly half a dozen 3” holes in the lawn, as well as one very large, very deep Mother-of-all-holes…still without finding the mystical, magical cap. What he DID find were several large, randomly shaped rocks. Frank was steadily losing steam and I’d bailed 30 minutes earlier, under the pretense of needing to help Connor with his homework.

45 minutes later, I overheard Frank on the phone with his boss. I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I believe I heard something like “I don’t think she even HAS septic here…maybe she has sewer and she doesn’t even KNOW it. Ya think I should check?”

By 5pm, I was starting to get nervous. Frank was no closer to finding what he needed to get the job done, we’d been cleaning our hands with sanitizing wipes for hours and I was afraid that Frank was gonna call it a day and leave me to deal until tomorrow....or next week...or maybe forever.

It was time to call for reinforcements.

One plaintive call to the company later, I was informed that the owner was already on his way. I was assured he’d be here any minute.

Five minutes later, “Jason” arrived with a nod and (I’m convinced) a mutually-understood apology in his sad smile. He then set to work, quickly locating the underground metal cap and beginning to dig:

I know you can appreciate the artistic quality of this “capture” but honestly, I couldn't figure out how to photograph this event without standing there and declaring “Smile! You’re on 'The Inside Out'! Welcome to blogsville!” (Of note is the absence of Frank in this shot…by this time, he’s gearing up the truck…racing the engine, repositioning the angle of the truck and smoking what I believe were two cigarettes at once, by the looks of the smoke pouring out of the driver’s window.)

When Jason reached down and opened the magical “cap” we all simultaneously groaned and staggered backward a bit. Geez, I guess you never really do get used to it. Ten stinky minutes later, (the boys and I had retreated to the relatively clean air of indoors…and I’m thinking there isn’t a Febreeze bottle big enough to tackle the size of this stench) Jason was calling me.

J: (Literally laying down on the grass staring into the stinky abyss) “Okay. THAT part’s done. Now I want you go to flush.”

K: “Pardon me? I don’t believe we’ve known each other long enough…”

J: (Rolls eyes) “Yeah, like I’ve never heard that one before. Just go flush.”

K: “Which one?”

J: (Looks perplexed. Props himself up on one elbow.) “Which one, what?”

K: “Which toilet? The upstairs one, or the downstairs one?”

J: (Patiently) “It doesn’t matter. Just go.”

K: “Okay…I pick…the upstairs. It’s cleaner.”

J: “Good choice.”

I slam the front door (odor, be gone!) and race up the stairs.

I flush.

I run back downstairs and fling open the front door. He looks at me questioningly.

J: “Did you do it?”

I’ll admit, a kazillion snappy comebacks popped into my head…but, I just couldn’t. He looked too vulnerable…laying there…you could almost see the cartoonish green cloud around him that was this horrible odor.

K: “Yes…yes, I did.”

J: (Looks confused) “Huh. Okay…I didn’t see it. Go do downstairs.”

A strangled giggle bubbles up and almost escapes my lips as I try my best not to respond with something probably wildly inappropriate.

Running into Taylor’s bedroom, I have to jump not once, but twice…(think jump rope gone wild) over the video game control wires…one for each of my male order to reach the bath…as they’re blocking my path. Taylor & Connor are sitting on the bed…completely oblivious to the chaos taking place around them. I flush, then reverse the hokey-pokey, jump-rope hop, run and climb up the stairs to once again fling open the door, the question already clear on my face.

J: “Seriously??”

K: “Are you freakin’ kidding me??”

Frank: “Try plunging the downstairs one.”

K: “Seriously?” (Looks to Jason for confirmation.)

J: (Shrugs…as well as one can when laying down with his head in a hole) “Go for it. Something's clogged.”

I race back downstairs…run through the room, jump-jump, run into the bath….flush/p-l-u-n-g-e/flush….step, step…jump-jump, then run back up the stairs and open the door. Jason’s already shaking his head.

K: “What now?”

J: (Thinks for a minute) “Didn’t you say you had laundry started?”

K: (Thinks) “YES! YES I DID!”

J: (Smiles)

I run back downstairs and hit the button for the washer and it immediately begins pumping the water out.

I scramble back upstairs and when I open the door, I see he’s smiling.

J: “That did it. Now we’re talking.”

Ten minutes later, they were done…and off they went. Now, all that remains is this:

…and the memory of the grossest afternoon I’ve possibly ever had. I'm certain the grass will never grow on this place.

We shall not speak of this again…and in a perfect world, we would pretend it never even happened at all.

Let’s just go with that.

Anonymous said...

So many things to say! That is awful. Is it one of those smells you can't get out of you olfactory memory? Yuck! That guy had nice arms!

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