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Where the bee sucks, there suck I

Where the bee sucks, there suck I

A Story by Terpsichore

(General notes on the sensitive operation of sewage tankers)

One measure of culture and civilisation is the proximity of a species to its excrement. Taking this as true, a cruel irony is hidden therein, in that some of the most advanced and successful of our number remain rather closer to theirs than is advisable.

Those of you who venture into the countryside will be aware it is anything but agricultural. Large areas of land are little more than bucolic theme parks scattered with plasticised cottages and mansions owned by the very privileged and largely untalented. A stroll along a country lane could give you the impression that you had stumbled into a Ferrari race caught up in a Range Rover rally.

Because of the isolation of these dwellings they are generally not connected to main sewers and require cesspits and septic tanks to accomodate the foul water and sewage waste. This is where I come in as the driver of a sewage suction tanker.

There are two distinct elements to the operation of sewage sucking vehicles - diplomatic and technical - the former being by far the more complex. The operation of the actual tanker is something rather less cerebral than the control of an Airbus 380, yet there are some major features to absorb. I mean, if you get it badly wrong on the flight deck you might be soaked in your own s**t...but at least it will be your own.

Once an urban dweller has produced his or her droppings they are swept away never to be seen again. Off they go into a sea of anonymity and you will never be asked to answer for them or give any account of their design or provenance. In the rural idyll this is not the case. The tanker operative is often confronted by a Holland and Cooper clad maiden of such flawless fragrance that it is clear she could never have produced any excrement at all. Presenting oneself at the door in brown smeared overalls is unlikely to evoke a welcoming smile. Opening gambits such as "I've come to suck your s**t" are seldom well received. It is far better to open with something like "It's the tanker ma'am."

Generally one is directed by the wave of a perfectly manicured hand to a manhole or drain cover at a distant corner of the considerable property. Very few clients attend the ceremonial lifting of the cover. Occasionally some uncouth Baron of bling turned anti phone mast parish councillor will witness the event, but this is rare.

If the client is present, it is not polite to point at or make remarks about any particularly large or exotic disposal, but if the client is of a scientific bent a conversation may be contrived around the physics of floaters and sinkers. Fibre and fat content are pertinent to this issue and the well informed operative may offer dietry advice. Several learned studies are available to those wishing to pursue a serious career in this business.

Old brick construction cesspits often leak liquid into the soil. Whilst this means less frequent visits by the tanker, the pit contents are often the texture of a chocolate Mc Flurry. A metal bar or spike should be kept on the vehicle and used to break through the hardened upper crust. Do not try entering the opening and bouncing on this seemingly sturdy surface. The risks are obvious!

Once the pipes are dropped into the pit and the tanker vacuum run up to maximum, the sucking may start. Always remember that the liquid on top will hide a far more solid lower level. Do not just suck up the liquid, but ensure that the pipe is well down in the sediment. Manual raising and lowering of the pipe will produce a good mix of thickers and thinners. The more fastidious operative will wear gloves.

Once sucking is in progress, the operative may return to the tanker and enjoy a cigarette and a chicken tikka slice. However, be aware it is at this stage that your honed diplomatic skills may well be needed. The disturbance of sewage waste and the gas venting from the tanker causes an intense stench. It is for this reason that I always advise the chicken tikka since the taste remains perfectly identifable above the background environment.

During the operation itself, the householder will usually remain shamefacedly indoors with all windows closed. Time perhaps to recall those languid luncheons with claret and pheasant, the gay chatter about Lamborghinis and the re-birth of M&S shares, all now reduced to this - this stench, this crude operative in the garden, leering at one's knobbly doo doos and quilted tissue.

Commonly it is a neighbour who will arrive asking the operative if he can contain the smell. Crude ripostes such as "Well it ain't my s**t mate" only serve to confirm the stereotyped image of the operative. Never forget that you are a representative of the whole sucking brotherhood. Having read Dale Carnegie's "How To win Friends and Influence People" my own tactics are more advanced. Often I tell the complainant that I recall recently sucking their own gulley, that that it was almost entirely odour free and a true credit to them. This once brought a gasp of astonisment from a blue rinsed lady from town who was merely visiting a rural friend.

"No one has ever sucked my gulley" she shouted angrily in best Maggie Thatcher style.

Not surprising really *****

The technical operation of sewage tankers should not present any major intellectual problems.The pump may be turned to blow or suck, but please do remember that getting this wrong when you are running at high pressure and a 4 inch pipe is immersed in 3,000 gallons of sewage sludge, will give a whole new meaning to the term "golden shower".  A hapless operative presenting himself at the squire's door soaked in s**t, asking to borrow a towel is most unprofessional. Oh yes, it has happened. I was that soldier.

Once the hose starts to buck and wriggle like an orgasmic anaconda you are drawing in air and the ordeal is over. Withdraw and stow your pipes. Place any paperwork close to the front door, ring the bell and stand back. During summer months your face and clothing may be covered with a mass of flies and it is astonishing how socially crippling this can be. At this point in the procedeedings the client will be far more at ease and will often give a coy wave as you drive away. The suck of shame has retreated. Now is the time to go outside, wash the Porsche and plan that venison cassoulet, perhaps with a sharper Chardonnay. Time to live again. Big job done.

© 2016 Terpsichore

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Oh my GAWD this is hilarious. Truly, deeply, madly. And you are an artiste extraordinaire!!! I am laughing so hard, well, you know ... PLEASE PEOPLE READ THIS STORY. It is well worth it.

Posted 7 Years Ago

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11 Reviews
Added on August 1, 2016
Last Updated on August 1, 2016



London, United Kingdom

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