About a year back one of my contractor buddies called me up with a job to put a bathroom in a basement. Nothing we haven’t done before, and I had it down to a science. About the last thing you want to deal with is a never-ending stream of call-backs on a basement job, so you lay the terms: the client springs for a top-of-the-line grinder pump, or the deal’s off.
(For those who don’t know, when you’re too low for your fixtures to gravity feed into the main sewer line, you use a grinder pump to cut up all the shit into a pulp and then shoot it up through a pipe into the main line.)
There are worse things than forever screwing around with a cheapo pump that’s all clogged with shit and tampons (and I’ve dealt with most of them), but like everything else, it’s better to do the job right the first time.
“Nah,” said Frank. “This guy’s legit. He asked for top-of-the-line. ‘Money is no object,’ he said. He actually said that in those exact words. Guy’s a dream client, Ernie. You in?”
“Sure,” I said. “Sounds good.”
A few weeks later, I pulled up to the house, and it didn’t look like a place that somebody with a lot of dough would live in. I mean, it wasn’t bad… nice little one story ranch kind of tucked back off the road a ways… but it looked more like a starter home for a young couple than a rich person’s home.
I knocked once and the door swung open like the guy was standing there waiting for me. “You must be Ernesto,” he said.
“That’s me,” I said. “Everybody calls me Ernie. You’re Charlie, right?” I stuck out my hand. He looked at it from behind thick glasses for a few beats, and declined to shake it. I shrugged it off. A lot of people think that plumbers just root around in shit all day with their hands. Wouldn’t want to soil the guy’s delicate little fingers!
“You’re early,” said Charles.
“Never late,” I said proudly.
“My name is Charles, not ‘Charlie.’ I am afraid that you will have to wait outside for a few minutes. I will open up the bulkhead to the basement at the back of the house for you when I am ready. At the appointed time.”
I saw how it was right then. Some clients, even if they were super rich, treated you like human beings. Some treated you like shit. It all paid the same, but I was starting to get a bad feeling about this guy.
He closed the door in my face and I actually heard him drive the deadbolt home. I smoked a cigarette there on his lawn and threw the butt into his little flower garden. Then I went around back and waited for him to open up the bulkhead doors. It took a few minutes, but he finally did.
I walked down the steps and followed Charles to a corner of the basement. “Here,” he said. “This is where I would like the grinder fixture. Will it work?”
I looked up at the pipes running overhead. It looked like there was a vent there that I could tie into. “Sure,” I said. “This will work.”
“And I’d like the very best,” said Charles.
“I’ll get you set right up,” I said, smiling. “You’ll be able to grind up a horse in this thing, or anything else you can flush down the toilet.”
“An entire horse?” asked Charles. “Or would I have to dismantle it first?”
I laughed. The guy had a nutty sense of humor, I guessed. “Maybe one of those mini-horses you could get in there whole, if you open up the lid and stuff it in there. The thing’s quiet as a whisper, too. A bit pricey, but, you know, worth it in the long run. Sound good?”
“If what you are saying is true, then it sounds good. You have brought an estimate?”
I handed him my estimate without a word. He took a quick look, including the astronomical number at the bottom, and handed it back.
“Very well,” he said. “When can you begin?”
*
I didn’t see Charles again until last week.
The job went fine, we did top-notch work as always and the checks came right on time in the mail. I just never saw Charles. We came in through the bulkhead entrance every day, did our thing, and then left that way.
Anyway, last Saturday I got a call on my personal line. I didn’t recognize the number, but I was feeling in a charitable mood. I mean, emergencies arise, and if a quick trip over from me saves someone’s house from getting flooded with shit, I’ve got a customer for life.
“Ernie here,” I said, answering the call.
“Ernesto. I have been misled.”
Right away I knew who it was.
“Charles,” I said. “Sounds like you have a problem.”
“I was told that the grinder pump you installed last year would be completely maintenance-free for several years. And yet, it has malfunctioned already.”
“What’s the problem, Charles?”
“The basement fixtures have backed up. There is filthy water bubbling up from the lid of the tank housing the grinder.”
I’ll admit that surprised me. It was something the cheaper units did regularly, but not the one I had sold him. I hadn’t gotten a call-back for that one yet, after ten years of installing them.
Still, it wasn’t an emergency.
“Really sorry about that, Charles,” I said. “I’ll be there first thing Monday morning to look at it myself.”
“I’m afraid that’s unacceptable,” said Charles. “This problem must be addressed immediately.”
I sighed. I was just into my first beer of the afternoon, and the game was starting soon. “If this were your only bathroom, I’d be there right away, my man. But it’s not. You’ve got two toilets upstairs… I’ve seen the drains from below. So you can hang in there until Monday. Again, I’m really sorry about this, and I’m honestly just as surprised as you.”
“Are you aware that I am a lawyer?” asked Charles.
Asshole.
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll be over in a few.” I pounded down my beer and fired up the van.
*
When I got there, I went straight around to the bulkhead doors. Charles was there waiting for me.
“I do thank you for coming,” he said. “I understand that it’s the weekend, and you must have other plans… just as I am sure that you understand the need to fix your mistake as soon as possible.”
I felt like socking the guy in his smug face, but I just nodded and followed him down to the basement.
One look at the tank, and I knew that instead of relaxing at home watching the game, I’d be up to my shoulders in shit.
Brown wastewater was bubbling up around the lid of the tank, dripping down the sides. I could smell it first, before I saw it, from across the basement. I sighed and set down my tool box next to it. I took out a pair of gloves, put them on, and gave the tank a good bang with my fist. On the cheaper units, when the float starts to get wonky, that bang usually does the trick, at least in the short term. No such luck this time, though.
“What’ve you been flushing into this thing, Chuck?” I asked.
“It’s ‘Charles,’ as you know. And I was told that this unit would successfully grind up a mini-horse. I assure you that the deposits have been smaller than a mini-horse.”
I didn’t know if the guy was putting me on, and I didn’t care. I just wanted to fix the problem and get out of there.
I have a strong stomach. Like I said, I’ve pretty much seen it all. I found a seagull stuck in a drain pipe once. No idea how it got there, but one side of the pipe was packed solid with liquefied shit, and then there was the seagull, and then on the other side of the seagull was a bunch of rats eating it.
I’ve pretty much seen it all, but when I opened the lid of that tank, I saw something that I’d never seen before, and I puked right on top of it all.
There staring up at me was a small eyeball, floating in a mass of shit and piss and toilet paper and possibly blood. I turned slowly around and looked at Charles. “Wha… what… why is there an eyeball in your tank?” I asked.
Charles shrugged. “Not that it’s any of your business. But my daughter had a pet pig. The pig died, and since this unit was advertised as being capable of grinding up a small horse, I assumed that it would have no issues with a pig.”
He is insane, I thought. “Charles. That was a joke. I’m sorry you misunderstood, but it was a fucking joke. I mean, that’s your problem right there. Under no circumstances should you put an animal in this thing. Don’t put anything in this thing except for the normal things that come out of your body that you typically flush down the toilet.” It took some effort not to just explode on this asshole.
“Can you fix it?” asked Charles.
“I can, Charlie, but you should know… my weekend rate is triple my usual rate, with a two hour minimum. And there is no way that this is my fault, just so we’re absolutely clear about that. I didn’t stuff a goddamn pig into the grinder pump.”
Charles waved his hand in the air, as though dismissing a slave. “Very well. Just get it fixed.”
“Sure thing, boss,” I said. “Just gotta dislodge the blockage. I’ll go grab my stiffest snaking tool from the van. Hopefully I can get it that way. Be right back.”
Charles nodded, and I went back outside and headed to my van. On the way there, I saw a little girl with her face pressed up against one of the windows of the main house. Must be his daughter, I thought. But she looked… off, I guess. Her eyes were sunken back in her head, and she had a deep cut along one side of her face. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in months. I gave a smile and a wave as she stared at me, almost like she was dead, and turned back to my van.
Back in the basement, the snaking tool didn’t work, and actually got itself jammed up in the mess. Charles stood behind me the whole time, breathing down my neck. I hate that under normal circumstances, and hated it twice as much right then. It took a lot of self control not to unload on him. And what was he doing there, anyway? The guy left us alone the whole time we were working, and now all of a sudden he’s a student in the fine art of getting shit unstuck?
“Looks like I’ll have to go in manually,” I said. I pulled my respirator out of my bag, and put it over my face. Even so, the unbelievably foul stench seeped through.
Might as well get it over with.
I reached in and felt around. There was something hard wedged in between the blades of the grinder. I yanked as hard as I could, and then I had it. Horrible shit-blood-piss water splashed all over me as I pulled it out. Somehow, I didn’t puke into the respirator.
I looked at what I was holding. It was a bone. I tossed it in a trash bag. Then I yanked my snaking tool out, put the lid back on the tank, and plugged it back in. There was the whirr of the grinder, and the sudden whoosh of everything draining.
Ernesto does it again, I thought, trying to take a little pride in an otherwise shitty situation.
“That’ll do it, Chuck,” I said. “Mind if I wash up a bit in the bathroom before I get my check and go?”
“That’s fine,” said Charles. “And thank you.”
“Not a problem, bub. Just don’t do that again, okay? No dead animals… nothing larger or more solid than a turd, okay?”
“If my math is correct, that is $380?”
I nodded.
“Very well, I will write you a check as you wash up, and be back momentarily.”
Charles headed back up the stairs, and I took a look at the mess on the floor. I was glad that I didn’t have to clean that up, at least. I went into the bathroom with my snaking tool. I figured that needed a good rinse too, after what it had just been through. And when I went to hold it under the showerhead, that’s when I saw it.
There, wrapped up in the tool, was a finger.
It wasn’t a pig finger, because pigs don’t have fingers. It was a human finger. It looked like it had belonged to a child.
I puked again in the shower, and then, with my head spinning, I shoved the finger into my pocket. I washed up in a daze.
“Is everything okay in there?” asked Charles through the door. He had come back with my check.
“Sure,” I said in a voice that I’m sure was cracked and terrified. “Almost done!”
I finished up and went back into the main room of the basement. Charles was holding the check out to me. “Here is your payment. I will be sure to follow your instructions in the future, and I apologize for any inconvenience.”
I took the check without looking him in the face, and stuffed it into my pocket… not the one with the finger… the other one. “Anytime,” I said, trying to keep my composure. I picked up my bag and hurried towards the steps.
“One more thing, Ernesto,” said Charlie. I froze in panic.
“Oh yeah?” I asked, slowly turning around to face him. If he tries any shit, the pipe wrench is the best bet. Crack him in the head.
“I trust that you will not tell anyone about this incident. It’s rather embarrassing, you see.”
“I never talk about other people’s shit,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Excellent. And thank you once again for a job well done.”
“Don’t mention it,” I said, turning around and hustling up the steps.
*
I drove straight to the cops. I know most of them, either from high school, or from doing work at their houses.
I went straight to Chief Sanderson’s office and plopped the finger on his desk. I told him what had happened. That was enough to get a warrant and search Charles’ house.
He had three girls there, ages 10-12, chained up to various fixtures in the house. Two of them have been identified as missing children. The cops are giving it a few days to identify the third (and maybe whomever that finger belonged to) before releasing the story to the public. Better to give the parents a heads up than have them find out on the news.
The third girl had her tongue cut out, and can’t write. The cops think she’s been there for a while, and if they can’t figure out who she is they’ll have to release the story anyway, and hope that that brings them some leads.
Charles is in jail right now. As it turns out, he really is a lawyer. But I think he’s pretty fucked.
How am I doing? Well, I can’t sleep, and I’m having waking nightmares. Haven’t done any jobs since this happened… haven’t even answered my phone.
I’ll let somebody else take care of shit for a few days.