Friday, June 24, 1983
A realtor in La Honda buys a bargain of a house, has some work done on it, rents it to tenants, and then calls me to snake a drain.
Something is wrong. The more I snake, the more the water seems to back up.
On the hillside behind the house I dig out the lid of the septic tank. After peering inside, I trace the drain field up the hill. Now I understand. The drain field, incredibly, is above the septic tank. When it rains, water from the drain field flows backward into the septic tank and then into the house drain.
I tell the realtor that the guy who built that septic system should be in jail.
The realtor is not happy with my report, to say the least. The septic builder is her son-in-law.
I'm tired. I smell. After a shower I join the neighbors for a dinner of barbecued chicken which looks just like what I was pulling out of the drainpipe. Unfortunately, meaning no insult but simply trying to make an interesting and somewhat ironic observation, I say so.
Maybe sometimes, judging from the reaction, I shouldn't say what's on my mind.
But the chicken is delicious.