Taking Care Of Shit

 So two years have passed since our last service, and it's that time again: have to get our septic tank pumped out. We're on city water, and recently our Village government circumvented a no vote on a bond issue to bring city water to everyone, but we remain without sewers in this 1950s era developed part of Pinecrest. 

At our first house, I learned first hand, or butt, the problems that result when a septic tank is NEVER pumped out -- we had to replace a whole drainfield, which was expensive. At that time, I became a lay expert on septic systems, and concluded that they need pumping out every two years -- lest the drainfields clog up, and require replacement -- which in my current house would be a $25K job.

We moved here in February, 2001, and in 2003, I called Clark Smith, the man whose company installed our system and thousands of others in South Dade. I liked him right away -- Korean War Vet, with the requisite sense of humor needed for his craft: "Number 1 in a Number 2 Business."

Clark was the patriarch of his excretory empire. He would proudly show me pictures of his palatial vacation home in Montana, and would add "Hey -- there's gold in shit!"

I strangely looked forward to our every two year meetings, and later, his son in law would come out -- a Cuban guy missing a tooth or two who was also hilarious. One year, he suggested I replace the usual concrete lid with a manhole, to make access much easier, "for good septic customers like you."

So every two years we'd meet, and I admit I looked into the tank to make sure there were no bodies there. I mean, I'm pretty sure I know Wifey well, but do you ever really know someone?

Well -- two years ago things changed. I called Smith Septic and they kept blowing me off -- telling me that their trucks were broken. I waited a month, and then called the other masters of the local trade: Chapman.

The owner told me Clark was retiring, but couldn't bring himself to admit it. Chapman came out and did a fine job, too. It was April of 2021.

So this am I called Chapman, and sure enough, they had a slot available. Lourdes just called to say they were on their way. Our tank is in the back yard, and the service trucks park outside the stone wall, along Ludlum Road, and have to hop over with the vacuum hose. I placed a red milk crate on the wall to show the driver where to park.

I'm most proud of being a great Dad. I'm also a true and loyal friend, and a serviceable husband to Wifey. I've been an ok lawyer -- now of emeritus status, as my friend Norman has correctly noted.

I'm also strangely proud of being a fine septic tank owner. I won't allow plantings over the drainfields. I get leaks fixed soon, lest too much water overwhelm the septic system.

Hopefully this time I get good marks, too.

If a man doesn't take care of his shit, well, as Don Corleone would have said, he isn't really a man.