Just when things were at a pretty warm spot with AC problems, up bubbled the sewage in my front yard. AGAIN. July 3, 2021. High Noon with temperatures hovering around 95. Nothing like scents from the dark side to brighten ones day when all I wanted to do was retrieve my mail. There it was. A pool of liquid in the front yard, thanks to a failed sewage lift pump. Not every home is lucky enough to have one, because, quite frankly sewage runs downhill. If planned properly, there is no need for such a device. If your house is lower than the main trunk of the sewer line, you are a lucky duck to have one in your yard, like me.
I rode this pony just a few months ago, so I knew what to do. I had the “insider” direct phone number to call. It wasn’t a home owner problem at all, but the City’s problem. They’d come to the rescue faster than a speeding bullet and right the sinking ship that Winterpast was becoming.
Upon entering the house, fright and panic again stirred in the pit of my gut. No matter who thinks otherwise, a widow is ALONE. After 32 years of not being ALONE, it’s a new obstacle to overcome. Sewage can’t be ignored for some other day. Saved from my past experience, I’d call the secret number given to me by a neighbor to get this fixed, Pronto. Special powers aren’t only for Super Heroes, but for very strong women that can create another person while magically making a house into a lovely home. She who can solve Common Core math problems after creating a nutritious dinner. She who can run a home like clockwork, after hours working in her chosen profession. And, she who keeps good records of WHO to call when the sewer pump breaks.
My city’s website held information, as well. “In Case of Sewage Emergency, phone Sheriff Dispatch”. In black and white, there it was. Call Sheriff Dispatch. Even better. They’d arrive with flashing lights and sirens blaring. Nice!!! With a trusty cell-phone, I was on it.
“Hello. I would like to report raw sewage in my front yard. I need a technician to come ASAP.”
“You’re calling the Sheriff’s Dispatch. Don’t call this number for this type of problem,” the cold hearted little girl hissed back at me.
Now there was a problem, alright. It had just turned into hers.
“The City Website instructed me to call THIS number, H-O-N-E-Y.”
Ponytail.
A dear, dear, dear friend and I are politically incorrect at times. We enjoy being politically incorrect. A Lot!!!! She came up with the name “Pony Tail”. Having now been nick-named a “Karen” by many who aren’t, I have the right to sling back the term “Pony Tail”. A sing-song-y opinionated young female that has the world by the balls in her little realm of useless knowledge. I was speaking with a “Pony Tail” Dispatcher. I’d need to set her arrow straight on this.
“You need to report this to the Public Works Department, H-O-N-E-Y. I’m sure you have their number. This is a CITY health issue. Raw sewage is bubbling in my front yard. Read the Public Works website.”
She wasn’t amused.
“I will report it, but, NO ONE will come. They’re off today.”
Hanging up the phone, terror clawed at me as I tried to find my faith. It was a crap shoot. They might come, and they might not. The bottom line, realized again and again. I AM TRULY, 100% ALONE. I can cry, stomp, curse, rant and rave with no one to see but Oliver. At least he promises to keep my secrets. All I could do was wait.
Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! My City Public Works department rolled up within 20 minutes. No sirens, but there was an amber strobe on the top of the truck.
“What’s the trouble, Ma’am?” “Okie Dokie!!” “We will fix you up with a brand new pump!” In less than 30 minutes they had dug, sucked, pumped, lifted, replaced, and sanitized. The sewage problem was repaired before the clock struck 2 PM. Those guys are unsung heroes.
Bottom line here. When you live ALONE, don’t let the “Pony Tail” get you down. Stand your ground. Widows are a force to be reckoned with. Sage Crones of Senior Citizen Status have earned our stripes the hard way.
I do plan to mess with her a bit. Today I’m going to call the Dispatch headquarters to have a chat with the supervisor.
“A young woman was working Saturday at Noon. She took my call. I have something to say about her service.”
Pause. I know what you’re thinking I’ll say.
Surprise.
“She was efficient and did her job so well. Help arrived quickly because of her. As her supervisor, I wanted you to know she saved the day. Thank her for me.”
“Pony Tails” need love, too. Some day, she’ll turn into a “Karen” standing over a puddle of sludge, just like me. She’ll know true terror. Then, she’ll understand.