Septic Tanks Do Not a Saturday Make...

So it's spring again. Flowers are blooming (almost), trees are budding, neighbors are once again in the yard speaking to me when I least desire them too... and the distinct smell of an overflowing septic system assails the nostrils...

Gross, I know.

I wander around to my backyard and head for the basement door. When I open it, I am pissed. Literally. I stepped in it. It seems there was a problem somewhere in the vast maze of pipes that constituted 1940's era construction of a home. And where the labyrinthian maze of pipes came together right before exiting my domain to the aforementioned septic system, gross things were leaking in. And like any person involved in solving a problem in my first home, I called my father.

---

Me:Hello, Dad?
Dad:Well, hello there!
ME:Hey, Dad, I have an issue.
Dad:(Yelling to my mother) No, the second one! (Back at me) Hello!
Me:I have a problem--
Dad:(yelling to my mother) What's that? (Back at me) Hold on, your mother wants to say something.
Me:But, Dad wai--
Mom: Hi!

Enter 20 minutes of inane gossip
about various members of my family
Mom:Well, it was nice chat--
Me:Mom, I need to talk to Dad...
Mom:Oh, hold on... I think he left for the bank... I'll be back...

A clunk of the phone, and I hear my mother yelling
in various parts of the house
Mom:Here he is...
Dad:Hello, son!
Me:Dad, my septic tank is backing up into the basement...
Dad:Oh, sounds like you have a problem...

---

So after many questions that only required a yes/no answer, my father came down and we spent the next four hours snaking the system. And we did eventually manage to unclog the stupid thing... after being interrupted at different times by the variety of characters that are my neighbors... The only one who actually always takes a long time to get rid of is old Luther, who built my house with his brother and brother-in-law, and although he can waste eons of my time talking about who used to live where, and who did what when, and the various parts of military plane automechnics, he cannot tell me where my drain field is, where the pipes leading to the septic tank are, or anything else of actual practical value...

Such is life. We were supposed to have been going to the Philadelphia Art Museum on this day... and instead spent the afternoon smelling our bodily waste... Of course, having seen some of what is called "Modern Art," I suppose it amounts to doing the same thing...