Working Weekend Duty
Posted: Saturday, February 11, 2012
by Jack H. Schick
I don’t particularly like it when it’s my turn to be Weekend Duty Supervisor at the sewer plant. They do give me an extra ten hours pay and a compensation day off the following Friday, but I still have to getting up at five in the morning and drive 50 minutes both ways eleven days in a row. I don’t have to stay at the Plant for eight hours, usually just three or four, but I’m on call the whole time. My weekend Swing Shift Supervisor works 6:00pm to 6:00am, so I don’t have to be concerned about routine stuff that happens overnight, but if there is any big problems he’ll keep me informed.
I decided I’d better take the Neon, but there was only 8 pounds of air in the passenger side rear tire. The Mustang had me kind of parked in. It was a chore, with no power steering, to get it out of the parking space. I stopped at Raj’s mini-mart, paid 75 cents to run his air machine, re-inflated my tires, then went in and bought lottery tickets. This time the big one is worth $350 million or something. For some reason, I didn’t feel lucky like I usually do. When I tossed the six bucks on the counter, I said to the drowsy looking clerk, “Here, flush this down the toilet for me.” He just put it in the cash drawer—which is the same thing.
The drive in was okay. Traffic was light. The roads were just wet and there were only a couple of snow squalls that made me slow down. For some reason the Neon’s ‘Service Engine Soon’ light had gone out, which made me happy. I periodically turned down the radio to see if it was still squealing and rattling—it was—but it had reasonable power and handled okay (if I didn’t have to turn more than a few degrees). The ‘Door Ajar’ light was flickering again, but it always does that in the winter. I just unplugged the interior light that kept going on and off and ignored it.
I actually got to thinking that maybe I could somehow get it to pass inspection one more time. I can’t afford to buy a car, and would probably not be able to get one that got as good gas mileage, anyway. I’d definitely have to replace the windshield—the crack is over two feet long now. It would still be a lot cheaper than getting the Firebird on the road or fixing the transmission on the gas-guzzling Jeep. I got discouraged when a ‘screaming’ car dealer commercial came on: “Zero down, zero interest for a year!” Yeah, right, but a new five year loan for $25,000. I’d be too much like the federal government. I started thinking about the lottery again, but I still didn’t feel lucky.
The weekend staff looked like hell when I got there. The Road Crew guys always do on Saturday, since they work till 10:30 Friday evenings then short change back. I handed out assignments; reminded everybody to spread salt around after the snow stopped because it’s supposed to get real cold, then made my own Plant inspection rounds. There were a few minor problems I had to address, but within an hour or so, I headed back to my office to catch up on some paperwork.
I wasn’t there long when I got a page. A customer, Mr. Smith, was on the phone and had a problem he hoped we could help him with. I took the call, hoping it wasn’t something ridiculous, like his toilet gurgled while he was doing laundry and taking a shower at the same time. He was a little shy about spitting it out, but finally came to the point. He’d accidently flushed dentures down the toilet. He was hoping we could help retrieve them.
I was surprised. I didn’t think it was the least bit funny or that it was an unreasonable request. I knew there was actually a possibility that we could find them; not a good chance, but not impossible. I warned him that they most likely were stuck somewhere in his lateral from the house to the sewer main—there is usually a trap somewhere in the yard—but, sure, I’d send the guys out immediately to see what they could do. It wouldn’t cost him anything. It was part of the service he got for paying his sewer bill.
The guys did think it was funny, but, since they’d probably stop at the donut shop on the way back, were glad to get out of the Plant and see what they could do. Fortunately, Mr. Smith’s lateral dumped directly into a manhole, not into a section of the sewer main pipe somewhere in between them. The guys hung a wire basket over the end of his lateral and had him flush the toilet a few times. It was clear, water came rushing out, but no false teeth. They left the basket in the manhole and will check it again before the end of their shift, just in case.
I felt a little sorry for Mr. Smith. I know how I’d feel if I had to buy new teeth. I’d probly have to just go without. It did make me feel good that we could at least try to help him out. On the way home, the Neon's ‘Oil’ light came on. I stopped and added a quart. Traffic was a little heavier, but the snow had stopped and it hadn’t gotten cold yet, so there was no ice. I started to feel a little luckier. I daydreamed about what I was going to do with my lottery winnings. I’ll definitely get a new car, but I think I’ll buy Mr. Smith a new set of teeth, too.
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