Dig It

It started with a colonoscopy down the sewer line in my front yard. The plumber’s camera snaked its way under the yard and toward the street. All was well until he informed me, “The sewer line in your street needs a root canal.”

Like a bad science fiction movie, tree roots from outer space had invaded and were choking and devouring my sewer line 10 feet under the ground. Happily, they hadn’t popped up into my toilet yet.

When I called the county engineer, he broke the news (which was as bad as the damaged pipe) that since the street in my sub-division is private, I was on my own with the replacement, but he said, “Sorry about that”---an obvious case of shadenfreude.

The next day, three burly men arrived with a street destroying, automatic backhoe, with which one of them drove, dug and shoveled out a really big hole deep down into the earth. At that point, I contemplated putting a swimming pool in the middle of the street, but then I remembered that my neighbor’s car doesn’t float.

All went well with the project, until suddenly the digging machine stopped making its “hukka---hukka” noise. I knew something was amiss because my headache improved the minute the fuel pump broke. The project manager called a technician who said he’d come right away to replace the fuel pump. Two hours later he showed up. I said, “It took you longer to get here than it took Pope Francis to come to the balcony.”  “I stopped for lunch,” was his answer. Of course, that explained everything. It took him 10 minutes to fix the problem.

The backhoe resumed its “hukka” noise, my headache returned, and one of the workers climbed down into the depths of the 10-foot hole to remove the tree roots, and replace the sewer with non vegetarian pipes. Before the sun set, the hole was filled with dirt, and the next day the asphalt was replaced on the street. It looked like a little theatre stage. For a moment, I stood in the middle of the street and yelled, “Out damned spot,” but stopped because my neighbor’s dogs started barking. That’s show business.

My new sewer put a dent in my checkbook. For what it cost, I could have purchased a small country. However, I guess it’s better to be flushed with success than confront sewage that doesn’t want to leave home.

Esther Blumenfeld (and I thought that “Down Under” meant Australia)