Stupid talking sewer line. That’s what I have. A chatty one with an upset stomach. It started with nothing — a little burp once in a while the washing machine was draining.
Gurgle. Glug, glug. Ffffft.
Nothing too bad. Barely noticeable. When my wife mentioned it, I shrugged my shoulders and waved it off. “Probably, the line had a little Mexican food and is sleeping it off. No worries.”
Then it got worse.
Gurgle. Glug, glug. Spit. Cough. Hack. Gurgle. Glug, glug. Gurgle.
At first, I didn’t know what it was. Was I under attack? Had squirrels gotten into the pipes again? Was the sewer line possessed?
Why is it your first reaction to something like this is not, “Hey, there must be something stopping up the pipes,” but instead, “Hey, there must be a raving-mad demon in the line.”
I have always worried that my house is built on some kind of Indian burial ground, and one day spirits will come to haunt me, or at least raid my fridge. Of course this lacks common sense. Would a spirit from beyond the grave really manifest itself as, of all things, a sewer line? You can pick what you’re going to haunt the world with, and you choose the pipe where the foulest of household waste flows through? No, everybody knows they come back as deranged toys and stuffed animals, or maybe an electric turkey carver.
So now convinced it’s not spirits in the line, I dealt with the reality of a blockage and ran around the house trying to figure out where it might be, which drain could be the problem, if I could gleam any information from the gurgle, or if it would give me winning lottery numbers.
At first I thought the problem was just in the bathroom sink and decided a dose of Liquid Plumber would do the trick. And what do you know? There just happened to be a bottle, partially opened, in the laundry room. What luck, I thought, pouring the bottle of foaming gel down the drain.
Although, it didn’t pour, or foam. This bottle must have been sitting on my shelf for quite a while, for it fell with a plop into the sink, and the massive blob slowly slithered down the drain in a solid mass. Uh, bad sign. I might have just made the world’s first clog caused by Liquid Plumber. I pictured it taking up residence in my pipes and building condos that I would have to create a bypass around.
No matter, wasn’t the problem anyway it turns out. The kitchen sink started gurgling, too, and it became clear it was actually the sewer line.
Gasp!
So, 10 minutes after I am supposed to be at work, and while dressed in wool pants and nice dress shoes, I decided to do what any rationale guy going into a weekend would do. I skipped calling the plumber and instead trudged out to the shed, dug around for a plumbers wrench, pulled out my trusty snake and started searching for buried cleanout valves to get a better idea of my situation.
My situation? Steadily going downhill. There is nothing as enjoyable as uncapping valves to a sewer line and finding a major backup all the way from the street, soon to be headed for your house. One bad flush and I might be shopping for a new house. I tried my snake, feeding it into the line as far as it would go, and found no relief. I heard the laugh of the sewer line mocking me: “Gurgle. Gurgle. Glug,” it said. “Give up and call the plumber.”
Befuddled, exhausted, demoralized, beaten down, I finally did something that made sense: I threw in the towel. The sewer line had beaten me. Maybe it was possessed after all, and it was time to get someone else to exorcise my demons. Gurgle on that, sewer line. Next time come back as a haunted sock.