My story begins on a Sunday night nearly two weeks ago.  The laundry was washing, as were the dishes.  I had gone upstairs to pee when the sounds of running up and down the stairs came through the door, along with my husband shouting to my daughter to find a flashlight.  I walked out of the bathroom to be greeted by my panting daughter telling me to not flush the toilet.  Oops!  Too late. 

The husband had gone down the basement on some other mission when he noticed the water building up in the basement near the furnace/AC overflow drain.  The plunger didn’t help, so next thing to try was the snake.  Much grumbling and shouting ensued because some screw holes in the drain (I had no idea what the issue was, really I didn’t) were stripped, so then we needed to find the vice grips.  Mind you, they could have been nearly anywhere on the property.  Certain people living in our home are not known for putting tools back where they belong.  They weren’t in the barn, they weren’t in the bedrooms (don’t even ask), they weren’t in any of the bathrooms, or the garage.  Make do with something else.  The twenty-five foot snake didn’t open the drain either. 

Sunday night ended with no one taking showers.  I planned on using the nice shower room at work the next day, so I wasn’t too worried. 

Monday the husband planned to call the plumbers who had previously worked on our septic system.  The husband wanted to start from the outside and work in since the snake on hand hadn’t helped.  OK, that worked for me. 

I brought my plastic shopping bag full of showering supplies with me to work.  Fortunately for me, many people in my building wander around smelling like cows, sheep, and poop, so no one noticed that I was less than sparkling that morning.  When I had a break, I headed to the women’s locker room to take a quick shower.  The last time I had tried to do this, I had issues with getting the hot water to come out.  This time I planned ahead and got the water running well in advance.  After 10 minutes, there was still no hot water.  Damn. 

That evening, the daughter had shooting sports testing out at the fairgrounds.  “Ooooh,” I thought.  “There are nice showers at the fairgrounds!”  So looking much like a bag-lady, I parked by the shower building, toted in my plastic bag, and took a long, hot, well-earned shower. Monday night the husband asked, “Are you sure you gave me the name of the plumbers who worked on our septic tank?”  No, I randomly pulled a name out of my…“Yes, of course!  Why?”  Husband informs me that after driving out to our house and checking what WE KNOW is the overflow pipe, that who from now on will be referred to as the IDIOT plumbers insisted, that A)  that was just a pipe to no-where sticking out of the ground.  Un-huh.  B)  no, they had never been out to our house, and C) they had no idea where the septic tank was.  I proceeded to loudly exclaim that they had A) pumped out the septic tank at least two times, B) had replaced out hot water heater when it blew, and C) were the ones who dug our new leach field for the septic tank no less than four years ago!!!!  “You’re sure?”  AAARRRGGGHHH!!!! 

Tuesday it was time to track down a new plumber/septic service to see to our lack of plumbing situation.  We both asked some friends who the good plumbers were in town, so we had a short list to start with.  I called plumber one – they didn’t do septic.  Husband called plumber number two – neither did they.  Next we looked under “Septic Tanks & Systems” in the yellow pages.  Surely these people could help?!  Don’t be so sure.  Yes, they would pump out the tank, but they had no way of digging up the tank to open the lid!  What?!!!!  

You think I’m kidding don’t you?!  This is a rural area.  Most homes have a septic tank because there is no municipal sewer system to link into.  Most septic tanks need to be pumped out at least every five years.  Why was this happening to us?!!! I was getting very tired of “if it’s yellow, let it mellow” and holding all else until I got to work.   

Finally, after contacting the County Register of Deeds, we were put in touch with “H Diggers” – surely these people could dig out the tank…YES! And they even had a pumping truck to empty out said tank – yeah!  They said they’d show up at the house to find the tank the next day or so. 

Wednesday – nothing.  Thursday – nothing.  I’d gotten crafty and snuck in to the building next door at work to take a shower.  It turns out that the one in my building was REALLY broken and they’d have to order parts in.  Timing is everything… 

Friday morning – phone call!  The Digger was having a hard time locating the septic tank, but was able to contact the previous owner of our house.  Remember how I live in a very small town?  The previous owner hasn’t lived in the area for years!  But his relatives do, so even though I wouldn’t have a clue as to how to find him, this Digger was able to track him down in NEVADA and find out the location of our septic tank!  I suppose I should have been thankful, but the whole situation was just too weird.  So I asked if it would get pumped out that day?  Nope – most likely Monday.  Sigh. 

Meanwhile, the person that could pump but couldn’t dig the hole kept calling!  Not being completely sure what I should tell him, I mentioned that we’d been in touch with the Digger.  They were well acquainted, and the Pumper expected to hear from the Digger directly. 

On Sunday the husband couldn’t stand it anymore, and went to the local hardware supply to see if he could rent a longer, motorized snake.  Bingo!  He selected a 50 foot one and with some entertaining twisting and contorting around the basement, got the drains to flow once again.  After successfully flushing both toilets, all three humans in the house took sequential showers.  And life was good.  Blissful even!  Despite having access to showering, dishwashing and laundering, we thought it still best to get the septic tank pumped out because after all, it was due. 

Monday – nothing.  Tuesday – nothing.  Wednesday – another message from the Pumper.  I didn’t call back.  Thursday – nothing.  Friday – I’m in the house running around late for work, hair wet, no bra, bare-foot, and the doorbell rings.  Groan!  I open the door – “This isn’t the “Wonderfuls’ is it?”  Um, why yes it is.  “Oh!  I’m the Pumper!  I didn’t see a hole!  The Digger called me!”  So I trot outside in the cold, in my bare feet and show him THE BIG HOLE on the other side of the shrubs, and tell him to drive around back to get into the paddock.  He seems to have it under control, so I go back into the house. 

I dry my hair, get completely dressed (underwear and all), am about to leave for work, and the doorbell rings again.  “I ran out of gas.  Could you give me a ride to the station?”  Yeah, sure, why not?!  As we drive down the road to the Farmers Oil and Gas Co-op, we pass the pumper truck stuck in the road directly in front of my snooty neighbors’ house – thanks be for small blessings!  Then I notice that the pumper truck used to belong to the Idiot Plumber – and his name hadn’t been removed from it!  At this time I’m really feeling the claustrophobia of small town living. 

We get to the station, I ask if he needs a ride back, the answer is “no”, so I go back home to complete getting organized and head to work.  As I’m pulling out of the driveway AGAIN, I see the Farmer’s Oil truck turning around and pulling up to the pumper truck.  As I drive by, my daughter’s shooting coach is letting Pumper Man out of the truck.  He turns around, gives me a big cheesy grin and waves.  I want to cry. 

Husband cannot believe the saga, and laughs hysterically when I tell him.  Digger man promises to put something called “elevated caps” on the tank to make it accessible at ground level and save us the digging for future pumping episodes.   

It is now Monday, over two weeks since this saga began.  The tank is still dug up, but I’m assuming it has been pumped, and at least now WE KNOW WHERE IT IS!  I can shower, I can flush.  I won’t even guess when the tank will be buried again.  If I think about it too hard, I think I will scream.