I am not a superstitious person, although I do have a few perks. I can remember growing up driving my Grand Dad around (that was my first job), when we would see a black cat cross our path he would turn his hat around backwards and tell me to do the same. Something about bad luck if a black cat crosses your path.

I never set the microwave on a zero or a five (or an alarm if I need to set one). It is always 31 or 29, 34 or 36, but never 30 or 35. Never an even hour or half hour.

Don't ask me, I have no idea when or why.

I set my clock in my pickup ahead of time fourteen minutes, not ten, not five, not fifteen.

Weird.

I will use the aforementioned insight as an introduction to today's entry.

I have been observing, I have one pair of work jeans in my closet that if worn, seem to always be followed by filth. A broken forklift hose, a problem with an oily greasy truck, having to crawl under a trailer, any of the above or any combination.

Yesterday, I decided to give up my blue jean denim shorts to be laundered. As I viewed my clothes to choose from I thought "How foolish. Those jeans don't look as old or appear to have been laundered as many times as any other piece of denim in my closet". Harummph!

And I took them from the hanger.

I even commented to my "bud" Frank (the plant super) and Jeff (the new GM), about how this pair of jeans had warped my mind. They kind of laughed and Frank told me that was why his wardrobe was pretty basic ( as is mine on the jobsite).

It isn't an issue of getting my clothes dirty. That is part of my job description here at the compound. It seems that this particular pair of jeans being put on is a precursor of gloom and doom.

I had drank coffee with the crew, visited with several patrons and finally decided about eight thirty or nine to go back to the trailer and work on settlements. When I walked in I was met with a weird smell. Krl was sitting at the table and she told me, "I turned the heater off, I could and still do smell propane". I checked the stove, went outside and checked the heater vents and returned. Everything was fine. I told Krl it was more like the smell that a holding tank has when you dump it. She inquired as to the state of the trailer park septic system. I went back outside, removed our drain line from the hookup and peered inside. It was moist, but it was drained. I called Krl and told her to flush the toilet. She did, it did, but no water ran out of our line.

I thought someone might be messing with us, so I checked the valves. Gray water, open. Black water, open. Dang the luck! I opened the storage under the trailer and began getting an arsenal of equipment ready to scare the (shall we say) contents (You thought I was going to say something else didn't you?), from the holding tank. I have a flat sewer snake, I had one of those cute little manual roto rooters (that I have never seen work), I even had a twelve foot long mote bale wire tie.

I began inserting the different tools into the sewer pipe under our trailer. At the point of hook up, it has a forty-five degree fitting, then about five foot of straight pipe, a 90 degree elbow and then straight pipe into the intricasies of the valve area. I inserted the flat snake. No luck. I inserted the cute manual roto rooter. No luck. I inserted the mote wire tie. No luck.

I have an analytical mind, always thinking about how something works or how something is put together. I will admit that when all these thoughts were going through my mind, I was having visions of Robin Williams emptying the holding tank in his RV vacation movie. I finally decided that the pipe work "T'd" and one valve was on the left (gray water) and one valve was on the right (black water). The only way I was going to be able to to this from this end was if I could find a discarded colonscopy machine where I could direct and point and turn the lead probe as I inserted it. In fact, that accompanying camera would have ween quite welcome.

Sorry about that. That was wishful thinking.

I reconnected the drain line (being quite optimistic) and grabbed the flat sewer snake and headed inside. Maybe, just maybe I could go through the toilet, down the drain, into the tank, and cause enough mayhem to open the blocked outlet. No luck! Where in the world is that cute tool? No luck again. The mote wire tie. You can fill in the blank.

Back to being analytical. I thought, O.K., I am going to use a water hose. I am going to insert a water hose into the sewer and let the water flush the obstruction out. After a sincere effort, I decided this too was futile. I then decided to close the gray water valve, connect a short drain line and tie the discharge end of it above the holding tank level. I then filled the hose (and plumbing leading to the valve) with water. Maybe if if let it sit and soak, the plugged line would clear.

I got busy doing other things. Pepa came and hauled a load of bales and I went to the dock and then to the fuel pumps to assist him. I went into the farm store, securing supplies for servicing forklifts on our maintenance Sunday. I did all sorts of things just to keep myself from rushing my soaking program. I finally went in to the trailer, took off my Justin work boots and sat down, drinking a Diet Coke, while making some phone calls.

Finally I decided my project should be complete. I stepped into my boots, exited the travel trailer and headed for the back side. When I arrived I untied the short drain hose, inserted itinto the septic connection to drain off the water I had filled it with, then detached it and hooked up our "official drain line". Then I began working the valve in and out, hoping to dislodge the obstruction. No lu...... . You can fill in the blank again.

Then, all the sudden, I had a brain storm. I went to my pickup, rolled off five or six blue paper shop towels, reached into the bed of my pickup and got a blower wand (it is a pipe like attachment that hooks to an air line), then I reached for the key start on the compressor on the service trailer. I grabbed the air hose on the reel and began spooling hose off as I walked purposefully toward the travel trailer and the now all to familiar sewer outlet!

I folded the blue shop towels several times, over and over, and I covered the end of the sewer discharge pipe with them as I slipped the blower wand inside the pipe, trying to seal it with the rags. I gently gave the control valve on the wand a quick, short squeeze. I could hear the holding tank as it expanded. "Boingh". Then it would "boingh" the other way as it contracted. I wanted to be very gentle in this exercise, because the last thing I needed to do was rupture the holding tank.

After about the fourth gentle squeeze on the air wand I heard a rush of liquid racing through the pipe toward my makeshift seal.

Uh Oh! Why didn't I formulate a plan past the point when I opened the restricted pipe!

Having the quick reflexes I was blessed with, I held the blue shop towels in place with my right hand and reached for the black water valve.

Uh oh! My spread, finger tip to finger tip was about three inches short of reaching the needed valve. In fact I could just touch the side of the handle, about where they have the label for it that says "Body Waste".

This had the potential for getting really ugly!

I redirected my attention to my makeshift seal of blue rags that were quickly becoming another color not blue. It seemed that at every wrinkle, every fold, the contents of the holding tank was oozing or squirting out. There was one particular leak that seemed to be growing in strength as it arched toward the tip of my boot. About this time I noticed that when I last slipped my boots on, one pant leg had not slipped down over the top of the boot, exposing an opening into the boot. As this one stream gained strength and crossed over onto the top of my boot clad foot and seemed headed for the opening at the top I had to make a decision, quick!

In a flash I grabbed the connection end of the drain line and held it under the outlet. I released the lower side of the rags into the drain pipe and as it went in I did a slam dunk and connected the hose. Of course then I had to run down to the next opening to try to fish the paper towels out or we were going to repeat this process!

The tank seemed to drain forever as I stood back, relieved that my (and Robin Williams) ordeal was over. I attached a hose to the holding tank and flushed it for a long time before I began washing and returning the different tools to storage.

I began surveying myself. I was polka dotted with splattered black water.

Maybe just maybe the dreaded jeans got their just desserts.

I walked into the trailer, declared to Krl that the crisis was over, stripped down and hopped into the shower.

By the way, I told Krl to burn those jeans!

And that is an excerpt from "The Poop Patrol", a true story by yours truly!

Hope your day was better than mine!

FATHER, I am thankful that our ordeal is passed, that with each day we have new beginnings.