But Someone's GotTo Do It

At our first house, off Galloway Road, I learned to fear septic systems. The owner who sold us the house, who I'll call Rick Cohen, since that's his name, knew he had a problem, and it became our problem.

I learned that a pre sale "septic tank inspection" consists of flushing a toilet 2 times, and, if it flushes, that means passing. Apparently, Rick had had the tank pumped out right before he put the house on the market, it passed "inspection," and we inherited a big problem: floods and backed up toilets. The repairs were a big deal.

So, thereafter, I became much more aware of this kind of shit, literally.

When we looked at Villa Wifey, I hired the maestro of septic systems for an inspection, Mr. Smith of Smith Septic in Homestead. He came over, looked around, and told me he had personally installed the system, and he personally vouch for it. Just to prove it, he dug up the opening, and showed me. It looked like a bunch of filthy water to me, but Mr. Smith explained to me why it was "flowing right."

Afterwards, we stood there, and chatted, and he showed me pictures of his place in Montana, and we shared Big Sky stories, and both had met Dick Allgood, the proprietor of "Allgoods" which serves great food and is decorated with Canes and Dolphins memorabilia in the middle of Montana, and I liked Mr. Smith and his wry sense of humor. "Ive made a fortune out of shit, Dave."

So every two years, I dutifully Ha! call Smith's Septic, and have my tank pumped out. Last year, Antonio, the gap toothed assistant, convinced me it was a good idea to put in a manhole, so that the cover doesn't have to be dug up each time. I did, and now there's a green, rubber coated disc in my yard, which reminds me of what I'd otherwise take for granted -- good flushing toilets.

I called yesterday, and Mr. Smith answered the phone. He's in his 70s now. He remembered me, and the fact that my house is best served when the truck pulls up next to the stone wall in the rear, and the tech pumps from there, without having to navigate my driveway.

Antonio showed up at 8 this morning, gapped tooth smile as always, and pried open the cover and began his work. He remembered I was a lawyer, and asked me about a summons he had received, about a ticket. I gave him free advice, and he said, in his Ricky Ricardo accent: "Mein --it must be great to be a lawyer --ju know so much."

I told him that both of us were in the same business, just that he dealt in the human kind, and I dealt in the Bull-type. He laughed so hard I was afraid he was going to fall into the manhole, and I'd have to pull him out.

He finished the pumping, pronounced all was well, and commended me on keeping the drainfield clear of plants.

I was strangely proud of having proper septic system hygiene.

I asked how business was, and he told me last year was slow, with the bad economy. As stupid as it is, folks put off maintaining their systems to save the $200 --which will lead to $10K drainfield replacements.

But this year things are back to normal. "Shitty --like we like it!"

What a business!