The effluent was overflowing. Black sludge in the basin of the outside tap. Congealed, gritty and pungent. The plumbers’ dream. Rivers of black trickled from outlets. Sinks bubbled. Water pooled and slowly drained from showers and poos came back up decrepit toilet pans.
I need new pipes!
He comes six monthly to unblock. Heavy metal coils and noisy machines in tow. Just a cup of tea and the hefty fee in return for back-breaking work. Man versus bottlebrush tree roots.
We’ve got to know various plumbers over the years – the skinny scolding one, full of disaster scenarios-grumpy. The young, keen ripper offerer, wanting good internet reviews and now Chris, near retirement, who is just nice and likes my dog. You can judge a lot about someone’s character by the way they treat your dog. Dog people are good natured!
The show starts. Vibrating metal snakes are propelled down pipes. Thrust, shove, plunge, bulldozing their way through dark, icky tunnels, mashing nature’s revenge for urban living. Over and over. It’s touch and go. Like a grimy cardiologist, he delivers. The clot is unclogged, blasted down to the sewers and places we dare not think about.
All is passable and gushing. Sammy the dog can no longer eat sewerage from the sink. A petrified rat must suffice.
What a profession? A pretty damn revolting vocation but never ever short of customers. My house is a bonanza, a pot of gold, a plumbers’ dream.
Burnside Writers Group 