I'm still living in Sewageland and things are bleak.

On Monday morning, the septic tank guy arrived finally at about 11am. I was so happy to see him that I could have kissed him- except I would have gotten impaled on his many facial piercings. I have to say that it was a bit disconcerting to have the septic tank guy turn out to be a twenty-something with metal bits poked into his face.

And he had a little goat beard. It was kind of like Aslan the Wonder Goat's, but less attractive.

But I was in no mood to be picky. I showed him straight to the Garage of Horrors, which is the origin of the disaster.

"So, where's the septic tank?" he asked.

"Well, it's right there. The big cement thing against the wall."

"That can't be it" he said incredulously.

"Yes, it is." I countered

"No, it's not."

And so it went for several long, f'rustrating minutes.

He refused to even look at the thing. He was convinced (possibly by messages from aliens communicating with him through his piercings) that the septic tank couldn't be in the garage, but must be out in the garden somewhere.

To goat-beard boy, I was nothing but a mildly retarded foreign dimwit female.

He climbed back into his truck, obviously in a huff to be called out for no good reason by some idiot who couldn't even locate her own septic tank.

He told me to hunt around for it by poking a metal rod into the ground.

I'd rather have stuck a sharp metal pole into him.

He further informed me that I really needed a plumber, not a septic tank person, anyway.

OK.

I went back into the house and mopped up the latest infiltrations, using plenty of bleach. (I am all about bleach these days, you better believe it.) Then I called up the local plumber, piteously begging him to come as quickly as ever he could.

He showed up right after lunch. He looked at the big cement block in the garage.

"Well, there's the septic tank..."

You don't say...

But according to him, the problem was not actually the septic tank, but rather the "overflow" tank right beside it. "That's not watertight anymore. I can't fix that. You need a mason."

So, he climbed into his truck and drove off. I again cleaned out the livingroom and then left a message for the local mason..

Well, the mason showed up today at lunchtime. He said that I didn't need a mason. (Are you sensing a pattern here?) What I needed was the plumbing in the upstairs bathroom re-routed and the septic tank needed emptying.

Mmmm...

The next thing I did was phone up the septic tank company and give them a piece of my mind. In my best, most politely insulting French, I told them just what I thought of the Goat Beard Boy who has walked away without even looking at the overflowing tank.

"I'd better not be seeing any bill for his "deplacement"" I warned. "He completely screwed up."

I didn't venture to tell the secretary this, but my suspicion is that while he was at septic tank school he had little time for studying. Getting piercings and keeping that beard trimmed to a point were pretty much a full time job for him.

My time, of course, is mostly occupied with keeping the mess under control and keeping the household running.

Also, Alexa's health hasn't been that great lately. She had to come home from school early today. Luckily, our appointment with a nearby cardiologist is tomorrow afternoon.