So our house has a septic system, which is sort of amazing in this day and age but certainly not unheard of in Kentucky and in fact is often a luxury in the hills as opposed to just dumping your crap in the creek. We live approximately 1,000 feet from the city limits, in a fairly nice subdivision, where the property values didn’t drop at all during the recession and are currently jumping upwards by about $50,000 a year, because it’s mostly older people in nicely built homes and lots of original homeowners and when they finally die off you can get a really nice brick house for a song by today’s standards but still make a substantial profit for the kids who are fighting over the inheritance. So you’d think by now we’d have real sewer service. Hell, my brother lives on a farm seriously in the boonies of Southern Indiana, and he’s had sewer for years, but then, they have legalized riverboat gambling there and so much tax income they don’t have anything else to do with it.
So I guess probably our septic tank has never ever Ever been cleaned, since the original owner and his successor were both party animals, it being the 70’s and the 80’s and the 90’s, and based on the number of pop top beer tabs in the backyard when we first moved in. And now it’s giving us problems, in that stinky water is seeping to the surface of the yard, and my poor Boyfriend finally got fed up with it and spent most of today digging holes in the ground near and around where the water is seeping since we have absolutely no idea where the goddamn thing is actually located and if you want someone to come hoover the damn thing clean, you have to dig it up and have the access hatch exposed first. Because this is what we call customer service in Kentucky: “You dig down three freaking feet in shit-water and find the hatch, and I’ll come out and suck up your ancient shit into the back of a tanker truck and charge you more money than most folks here make in a week.”
I’m pretty sure they’ll probably find a dead body in there. Because this is Kentucky, and it’s about time for our 15 minutes of white-trash fame. There I’ll be, on the evening news, with my sound bite ready: “I’m just praying for the family of whoever the hell that dead body is down there in the septic tank.”