The septic tank man really doesn’t want to speak to me. He scuttled off in horror last time he came to empty the septic tank and I answered the door….talk about shit with a female, especially a foreign one….Noooo!
So my friend Nick has to step in and make manly arrangements as the septic tank needed emptying after a summer of visitors who take three or four showers a day (that’s the trouble with walk in showers – long and giggly showers ensue from happy holiday makers!).
Fortunately my septic tank can’t back up – I have yet to see the turd that could climb five metres to scramble out of a loo! – but it can overflow and that would be unpleasant. But no hurry, there was room to manoeuvre so to speak and so enquiries were put in place to source our “dirty water” man.
We could of course go to the Belediye and pay an outrageous tariff, but instead we text a top secret number and the arrangements are made at a fraction of the price.
Strangely enough this time the arrangements were made by whispered telephone conversation when a strangely well spoken young man rang us and in perfect English said his brother would be coming at 7pm to deal with the issue.
The noisome truck duly turned up on time. I made myself scarce and Nick tried to be helpful but was shooed away – the septic men work alone!
Five minutes of boisterous sucking, hideous smells and Nick hovering inside the gate with the jet washer on hand and the deed was done. Nick (being one of the world’s kindest people) hurried outside with hand wash for the men and money changed (clean) hands. And it turns out the whispering and well spoken voice at the end of the phone was actually the brother of the septic man, and he has been calling from the UK!
The dirty deed done the septic tanker rumbled off into the gathering dusk with dignity intact and the faces of those valiant men unseen by sensitive female eyes.