The following is based on a true story… I’ve always wanted to say that.
SO,
I’m at this over-priced crappy rv lot for my event in Daytona that the show I run with keeps having us stay at. They have this system where you post a red sign on the back of your camper when you need your black water tank emptied out (black water is the poop water reserve tank) and the owner sends around a poop truck that collects $40 to suck it out. The owner of the lot is a sorta back country—don’t tread on me flag waving past his prime but ego still strong—Florida type. He has this guy show up that talks like the “M-O-O-N That spells moon” guy from The Stand. He goes to the poop portal (as I call it) with his shit wagon and I ask him if he needs any help. He says “no, I know what I’m doing.”
His ear-rattling abrasive generator is going, and I head in to start planning my day. 15 seconds in, the generator cuts off and there’s a knock at my door. I go open, and here goes Stephen King’s special-needs-with-special-powers-trope at my doorstep trying to give me my money back. I take it and I’m like, “what’s this?”
Then he hands me the broken lever to the poop tank and says, “it broke, I can’t pump it.”
I see it had snapped at the threading part where the thing screws on and I say, “well hang on let me find pliers, I can fix it.”
He says “ya gonna have to get that fixed before I can pump it.”
To which I answer as cooly as my short temper can muster at this point in my raging life with, “well I can’t fix it if the poop tank is full cause I gotta pull the damn lever out to screw it back in.”
He just leaves.
Out! Bye, bitch—seeya!
So I’m running around like my house is on fire, trying to find a pair of pliers cause mr. Just-learned-my-abc’s jammed the thing so far up into the slot hole I can hardly feel a groove from it. I go to the owner of the lot and ask for pliers.
To which he replies, “you know that’s why I had y‘all sign that waver cause we aren’t responsible for damage to your black tank.”
so great, at least I can save my breath telling him what happened cause he knows and don’t care.
I say, “I’m not trying to sue you or anything, I’m just trying to fix the damn problem.”
Lot owner goes, “well he can’t fix it and he’s a professional.”
I told him, “Well, you can put a hard hat on a monkey but I wouldn’t be so quick to send him out to direct traffic.”
I get pliers, head back, can’t find a bucket to set the poop water in as I try to correct this matter so I have to sacrifice my goddamn house trashcan for the job.
So, then I set it up with the hose, get on down in the muck, shimmy the lever out from its hole with the pliers, and rush to solve the issue and re-fix the handle onto the thing before the trashcan overflows with piss water. I felt like Keanu Reeves trying to defuse the bomb under that bus in SPEED. Fix it, close the hatch, find the lot man, and try to get him to call poop-head back. He’s on the phone with poop-head’s boss who acquiesces after a little push-back, saying that he will come out himself and pump my rv free of charge.
So I wait
I wait,
I get sick of waiting.
4 hours later, I duck-tape the trashcan close and pay a Carny to help me lift this Pandora’s box from hell onto the back of my pickup truck with plans to dump the shit juice in to one of the nearby outhouses.
At last!
Shit wagon finally comes rumbling back, but not before cleaning out the first set of outhouses, and then pumping out two campers along the way right in front of me. 30 min later he roles up on me, he pumps out the trashcan, but before he finishes his job on my black tank he tells me, “my boss told you I’d do this for free but that ain’t happening. This will be $40.”
I’m like “fine, whatever!”
This time I help him with my own equipment cause I have an attachment that lets you see when the nasty is done sloshing out.
Here this knuckle-head just decides, “okay it’s done“ and rips out his sucking apparatus.
I yell, “whoa! It’s not…”
Shit flys everywhere.
looked like a goddamn Jackass prank gone bad.
He sticks the sucker back in and I tell him, “I can see when it’s done, man! What are you doing?”
Fucking professional my ass.
He then proceeds to inform me that, “the only reason why I left so fast is cause usually when someone says they can fix it they got me standing around for forty minutes, and I got stuff to do.”
I’m like, “first off, you broke the lever (which he did, after I inspected the issue I found that it was snapped apart so he must have yanked it super hard, as a piece was still stuck on the threading) and then I had to wait four hours for you to come back. I got shit to do too.” Ironically enough, shit was what I was doing all day.
Needless to say, I will not be inviting this guy to my birthday party.
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