A black germito lives in my kitchen pipe. A wild, mean, darkly angry beast that spews up mucky sewer water at the slightest provocation. He slumbers quietly until someone innocently turns on the faucet. He grumps first, sending tiny amounts of water seeping back up the drain. Woe to those who do not heed this warning. Exploding with fury, he hurtles gallons of filthy liquid rushing into the sink, filling it and infuriating his victims.
I made this mistake. I was the one to unleash the beast’s fury. Not once. Not twice. Four times before I finally admitted defeat. The sink was definitely clogged and no amount of flushing was going to change that. My husband tried plunging it. I tried plunging it (when my husband wasn’t looking!). My son tried plunging it (also when my husband’s back was turned). Nothing. That stubborn beast refused to move. It was time to try tactical warfare. We got out the baking soda and vinegar. Three hours later I danced a victory dance.
Take that you, germito! The drain was finally clear.
The beast was just lying low. He came back no holds barred, guns a blazing. Fine. He wants to play hard ball, I’m up for the challenge. His guns don’t hold a candle to mine. My husband went out to the hardware store and bought a 25 foot snake. Along with a helpful friend, they drilled and weaved the snake deep into the dark recesses of the kitchen pipe. The germito was a gutsy guy, that’s for sure. He easily deflected the snake time and again for over an hour and half. We hung our heads in shame. Barely an inch and half tall and he had beaten us. We retreated.
It was time for reinforcements. We called a roto-rooter. The man came and set up his machine and long coils. The noise alone was intimating. My puffball, we call a dog, skedaddled down the hallway and under my daughter’s bunk bed as fast as his tiny legs would take him. We had the fiend now. There’s no way he was brave enough to stand and fight against the whirling steal cutting a deadly path through the line.
We underestimated the enemy. He created a barricade, a diversion so clever it fooled even our professional. The roto-rooter went straight through the bottom of the pipe and started chewing away at the flooring. I felt sorry for the man when he retrieved his equipment. Shaken and scared, he packed up with little to say and no suggestions on how to fix our situation. He left baring the scars of a hard-fought battle. He left a piece of himself embedded in our pipe.
My husband now has to replace our pipe. He must cut a hole in the wall in order to remove and replace the broken part. The conqueror lies quiet once again, content and smug in his darkness. Well played, germito.