Jobs That Stink

The workin' man.
P.S He hates this picture. But I'm the one with the blog!

It was my husband's first job following our marriage.
Foreman of a house-building company.
He was . . . excited.
It sounded prestigious.
And would be.
Once they got the plant built.
His new boss had a plan that would cut down on initial costs significantly. They would remodel said boss' pig barn.
It was the right size.
It was in fantastic shape.
Perfect.
It just needed a few touches.
First, and most important, the present residents.
Then, and nearly as important, the cleaning of the sewer system, still full of sewer . . . stuff.
For those who don't know, a pig barn has little ditches running through it. Ditches that are covered by grates and which catch all of the 'icky' stuff.
When the system gets too full, a truck is brought in.
A special truck, with a large tank and hose.
This hose is inserted at the proper place and all sewage is quickly and cleanly removed.
The truck drives away and discharges its load onto the nearest farmer's field, providing nutrition to growing plants.
Not a pleasant job.
But a necessary one.
And it needed to be done before the building of the house plant could continue.
Grant's boss brought in the truck.
The two of them made quick work of draining the sewers.
Then, the next step.
The discharge.
Normally, this would be the easiest part.
You would simply reverse the switch.
And stay upwind.
Things started out well.
Sewage was being discharged at a normal rate.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
Oh the motor was still running strongly.
It's just that nothing was coming out.
I should probably mention here that the discharge engine is quite powerful on these trucks. It needs to push a lot of stuff a long way.
Back to my story . . .
Cautiously, the two of them removed the hose and leaned over to peek into the discharge valve.
"Ah!" Grant's boss said. "I see the problem. Look. It's plugged right there." He pointed. He straightened and began to walk around, kicking at the dirt.
Finally, he spotted a large stick and brought it back to where Grant was still waiting.
"I can fix it," he said, cheerfully. He poked the stick into the valve.
"No, wait . . ." Grant started.
He got no further.
Kaaaablooooie! Or words to that effect.
Let me put it this way . . . neither of them had time to get out of the way.
I'm sure I don't need to describe the scene.
There is an addendum . . .
It was nearly time for Grant to get home from work.
I was just checking on our evening meal when his truck pulled into the yard and ground to a halt.
Ah! Early. Good. We could have a visit before we sat down to eat.
I glanced through the window.
Just in time to see my young husband, in his underwear, leap from the truck and scamper towards the house.
I admit it. My first thought was, 'Wow! Eager!'
He whipped open the door, tossed me a brief, 'Hi!' and headed directly for the bathroom.
There was the sound of the shower, then a loud, "Ahhhh!"
Now there's something that didn't happen every day.
I walked into the bathroom. "Hard day, Honey?"
"I'll tell you about it!" he said over the sound of the water.
And he did.
I thought it was hilarious.
He didn't.
Extra note: Grant's hastily shed clothes remained in the box of the truck until weeks of weather made it possible for them to be removed to the trash.
But the memories remained.
Some things you just can't wash out.