The sewer guys are back and now there’s another huge hole in the street. They were just here a month ago fixing something or other and apparently they thought they could get away with a minor patch, but they couldn’t. I’m recognizing individuals now. I should probably pop around the corner and get them some donuts.

A couple days ago a truck was by and put a tube into the brand new mini manhole they put in last month. They weren’t sucking anything out; the other end of the tube just went to some wires. So I assume they were doing a blast test of some kind and it failed. Anyway, here they are again.

As someone who routinely does blast tests of my own, I’m a little concerned this whole problem is something I did. Or more likely Dave. Neither of us has any digestive problems and our output runs to the enthusiastic end of the spectrum. I do believe if either of us was ever afflicted with constipation we wouldn’t even recognize it. We would just feel puzzled and morose for no reason.

I am honored to see my utility dollars being put to such specific personal use. I mean, this is the fourth trip out, not even including the people who put the pavement back, and they’ve already told me the problem is at our house. There have been at least five guys working the thing each time, plus one extra dude whose only job is to drive the flatbed with the portable biffy on it. (That surprised me, but it makes sense. Sure, here at our house we’re a half block away from a lot of restaurants equipped with toilets, but the sewer guys go all over the place, and things might not be so handy. So one city worker’s whole job is to drive the toilet truck. He just sits in the cab and moves it to the next job when they’re done. Even at minimum wage, it’s a pretty slick deal.)

I’ve had a number of memorable incidents involving this very sort of circumstance on my mail route. It could get really dicey on occasion, but all I had to work with was the kindness of mail patrons and/or dense shrubbery. These guys are IN THE SEWER. Seems like as long as you have a roll of TP in your pocket, you should be all set.

That’s what I thought anyway, but it turns out nobody actually goes into a manhole anymore. It’s dangerous and we have way more lawyers now. You could get beaned on the head or be overcome by gas in a greater-than-personal volume. So they just use remote equipment in the manholes, and those are being replaced by mini manholes. That’s what they put in the street in front of our house. It was probably a Poo Pit™.

The Poo Pit™ is a relatively new and revolutionary technological advance and it’s a breeze to install. It was invented in Australia and built to last 100 years, withstanding root intrusion, water corrosion, and kangaroo thumpage.

They start out the installation by busting the pavement and hauling out dirt with a backhoe, but at a certain point they have to use hand shovels so they don’t nick the furniture. Way down in the hole there was a tube that was on a pretty good downward trajectory. We are at a relatively high elevation, here, for northeast Portland, so maybe things go downhill in a hurry to meet up with the main line.

I’m pretty sure our new hole is a Poo Pit™ because it’s at the point of supply. The point of supply, according to my research, is where one’s private sewage line meets up with the public line at the street. I would have assumed the main point of sewage supply would be our toilet, which is also closely associated with a mini manhole, but it isn’t.

Anyway, with their new Poo Pit™ installed, they determined there was still a blockage or something, and so they had to come back out. They did locate and haul out a broken pipe, apparently, so I’m thinking a lot of our previous personal output is still in the vicinity, and we should be happy we’re living on a pile of Missoula Flood cobble in a wet climate. And now if anything further is amiss, they’ll have easy access to ream things out, check for blockages, or just take pictures if that’s what they’re into.

WE have to go to the doctor for all that.