I Salute You, Mr. Septic Man

Twas the night before Thanksgiving and all through the house, not a toilet was flushing, not even in the out house.

Every year in November you are forced to become one with your inner feelings and really come to understand what you are thankful for. There are always the understood ones like family, friends, God, your health, but this year I was feeling a little different. I had one thing that really stood out in my life that I was extremely thankful for – the septic man. His name is Mark and mom said he resembled Kevin Costner. I think she may have been a little over come with joy to think that the sight of a man digging into our septic tank could be attractive, but never mind that.

Thanksgiving in the one holiday each year my family plans to spend the week at our family’s bay house on Soldier’s Creek in Lillian, AL. This house was built over 50 years ago and is pretty much in the same conditions as it was when it was built. Everything from the toilets to the showers to the sinks and the dishwasher run through the septic tank in the side yard. (Has the name Griswolds come up in anyone’s head yet?) There is a smaller separate house in the back that was built for the “help” 50 years ago. This house is literally a 10x10 floor space with a toilet and has not been used in over 15 years.

It is about seven o’clock Wednesday night before Thanksgiving and my family has just all arrived. My sister came in from Atlanta with her nice fancy vodka and bouffant hair, and we are all wearing every article of clothing we packed because my parents refuse to turn up the heat. We have all just sat down with a drink when my father’s panic button wasn’t just pushed; it was smashed and broken into a million pieces so we couldn’t turn it off. I hear him screaming for our Lord when I notice there is a river running out of the master bathroom. The house goes wild within ten seconds. While Dad is screaming about the impossibility of going on and living this way, I stuff my sweat pants into my brand new camo wading boots and start throwing down towels. You may be wondering where my beautiful sister was during all this commotion, well she was calm as could be sipping on her vodka.

Did I forget to mention that as soon as all this begins to happen my mother decides she really has to use the restroom? Seeing as how all the bathrooms in the main house were now class five rapids and there is no way in hell she is becoming one with nature this year, I was left to abandon ship and prep the out house. Not a soul has been brave enough to walk through the bathroom door of the out house in 15 years, so excuse me when I don’t take off my wading boots. I clean it up in a jiffy so my mother can have her peace and head for the main house to see what nerves I may be able to salvage for my father. I walk through the door only to see a smile wide across my fathers face as he says, “Everything is going to be okay. Mark will be here at eight o’clock in the morning.” I sure as hell didn’t know who Mark was, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to question him.

Finally, peace has come over the ark and all the little animals are able to rest at ease. Well, almost. My sister and I are awakened by a cheerful yet frightened “Happy Thanksgiving” from my mother at seven o’clock the next morning. She has just discovered the toilet in the out house has decided to join in all the fun. We now have nothing but a bush to use for “powdering our noses”. Perfect.

Needless to say, by nine o’clock on Thanksgiving morning, my family learned a very valuable lesson, as we also learned the ins and outs of the septic system. Septic lines have holes in them to, you know, fertilize the earth. Roots grow into these holes and can clog up the system, causing great fun inside the house. Do you know what keeps these roots from growing in your lines? I do, but I think I will let you figure this one out on your own. Let’s just call this my way of helping the world dig a little deeper into what they are truly thankful for.