“In my professional opinion,” my plumber said. “I think we’re stuck.” The plumber said after assuring me that the “power auger” on his truck would make “easy work” of clearing the lengthy sewer line from my home to the street. “My baby hasn’t failed me yet,” he said of his power auger. “Check that, once,” he added. “I couldn’t snake through once, but that plumbing line was just a mess. You should’ve seen it. It was a disaster.” After I informed him that he was the third plumber I’ve called in the space of about two years, he added, “You give us [he and his auger] fifteen minutes, and we’ll fix you.” Prior to this call, I tried to stay away from the big guys. I much preferred the mom-and-pop operations that are filled with hungry, skilled workers who aren’t required to upsell me on the products I don’t really need. My frustrations with the little guys led me to call a Big Guy who had a never-fails power auger attached to his machine, a well-known reputation, and all the Big guarantees that Big Guys offer. I was so frustrated and desperate, and this Big Guy told me everything I wanted to hear. He assured me that “We will fix your mess for good.”   Most plumbers, big and small, do their job as if it’s a job. They often go from A to Z without changing expressions, and they don’t offer customers like me any of their personalties. This guy, a young twenty something, wasn’t burned out yet. He was not only a confident man, he appeared to really enjoy doing what he did.  I was also impressed when this employee of a big national chain informed me that his power auger could make a quick process of it, for that went against everything I heard. Everyone from the tree experts I talked to, to the plumbers who attempted to snake this drain before told me that the silver maple leaf trees were the worst possible tree a homeowner could have when it comes to plumbing. Our silver maple leaf was about sixty-feet tall, and the previous plumber informed me that that means it probably goes just as far, if not further, down, “And as I’m sure you can guess, a sixty-foot tree does not go straight down. It builds itself a foundation by spreading outwards infiltrating everything in its way.” I told this Big Guy what all the little guys told me, but he insisted that his truck’s power auger would make easy work of this task. “Just watch,” he said with his finger on the switch that powered the power auger connected, via cable, to a motor on his truck. “Just watch!” he shouted as it powered to life. And I was finally happy, relieved, and even a little excited with the surprising progress the Big Guy initially made. After about forty minutes, he and I shared a smile amidst the evidence of that auger’s progress lining my basement in the form of piles of debris on newspapers scattered throughout. The debris consisted of numerous examples of the silver maple leaf’s roots, twigs, and massive amounts of dirt that I assumed followed the twigs in the drain. “Well,” I said, looking down at these piles. “It should be easier to work through now that all of this dirt is wet?” “You’re kidding, right?” he said looking down at the mound of debris. “There is some dirt in there, no doubt, but most of that is not dirt.” I looked at him in confusion for about half a beat, until it dawned on me what he was saying. I, initially, considered that apt description quite embarrassing, and the plumber saw that embarrassment and smiled. After bathing in that embarrassment for about two seconds, I said, “Wait a second, isn’t that what we’re supposed to have in there?” “Sure,” he conceded, “but it’s not all dirt.” The plumber’s confidence turned out to be false bravado, as evidenced by the fact that the effort he and his power auger put into clearing the line failed to clear 100% of my drain. He and his power auger cleared 95% of it, but there was an annoying clump that he couldn’t clear.  After repeated efforts to assist the power auger, he flipped the switch off and attempted to physically free the one final chunk of filth over the lip of the drain cleanout inside our home. He didn’t say a word regarding his power auger’s failure, and how this might be only the second time he and the auger failed. He simply went manual, and he said he was “So close. Look at it,” he added the latter pulling the filth to the fore. We agreed that it almost looked like a rodent, teasing us, popping its head in and out of a hole. He couldn’t manage to get it over the lip though. He put forth a valiant effort, but that eventually, physically drained him. His hopelessness led him to call the home office. When they said they didn’t have anyone available to assist him, he put out personal calls to his professional colleagues. After they didn’t answer numerous calls, he called the home office back for advice. “I hate to ask you this,” he said, turning to me in a peak of frustration. “And I’ve never done this before, and I’m sure my colleagues would frown at this, but … would you mind helping me here?” After I agreed to do just that, he added, “I think the two of us should be able do this together, don’t you?” He put me on the lead, and he said he would be pulling the auger from behind. He said something about the art of tug-of-war, and how the guy at the end usually does most of the work. I agreed with that analogy, and I was already to start when he stopped me. “Before we begin, let me say two things. I want you to pull as hard as you can, but when I say stop. Stop!” He asked me to look at him when he said this, and he repeated that line to assure him that I understood the importance of stopping, and then he asked me to repeat to him what he said. I repeated his instructions dutifully. As I began to pull, however, I began to make significant progress. It became pretty obvious to both of us that I, an ordinary citizen with no professional training, was making more progress than a certified plumber from a Big Guy corporation. I was proud. I was even more proud when he stopped pulling from behind, as I considered that a compliment to not only the progress I made but my surprising strength. That was my ego talking, of course, but when he said, “I think you’re getting it,” that fueled me to put every ounce of strength I had into it. I don’t know about anyone else, but when another fella tells me that I’m displaying feats of strength beyond his own, it invigorates me. When I’m outdoing a professional at his own profession, I try to live up to that compliment and expound upon it. As I sought to expound upon it, the primary source of our concern appeared in the sewer cleanout fitting built into the wall of our basement. I was excited, I thought I was accomplishing something huge, but the plumber informed me that working it through the fitting was often the hardest part. I had this in mind, coupled with the progress I made, and I decided to show him how strong I was. My first couple pulls were somewhat cautious, as I awaited the instruction to stop, and the glop continued to pop up to the lip and drop to continue our “rodent popping out of a hole to torment its predator” analogy.   After those first couple of tantalizing pulls failed, I let the snake go slack and regrouped for one final pull. I inhaled and grabbed ahold of snake line, with the no-slip grip gloves he provided, and I put everything I had into that one final pull. “Stop!” the plumber shouted, too late. The mass, that was not dirt, intertwined with silver maple leaf twigs, finally made it through the closeout fitting. Its release, combined with the force of my pull, caused me to fall backward until I was flat on my back. The result of that flat fall not only prevented the mass that was not dirt from hitting me, but it put me in a perfect position to watch the mass fly up over my toes, my body, and my head. I remember this occurring in slow motion, but as anyone with a fundamental understanding of physics knows, this did not happen in slow motion, and what goes up must come down. Yet, the glop did not go up by a significant measure, and it did not come down. It shot almost flat across the room, so fast, that I didn’t see the glop hit the plumber in the face. I didn’t expect it to hit the plumber in the face, of course, as I didn’t know its trajectory in reference to the plumber, so I didn’t wonder if  the plumber failed to duck, or if it happened so fast that he didn’t have time to, but we have to assume the latter. Regardless what his reaction was, most of the glop that was not dirt landed square on his face, dirtying his nose and eyeglasses. I heard a disgusted “Uh!” before I turned to see what caused it. When I turned to see the mess on his face, it took him about as long as it did me to completely digest what just happened. Once he did, the “Uh!” turned into a series of expletives. One of those expletives could adequately describe some of material that was not dirt, now on his face. He blamed me for not stopping when he told me to, he blamed himself for not waiting for a professional colleague to assist him, and he displayed some anger at the world, in general, for a moment. Throughout this understandable tirade, the plumber did not wipe the glop from his face. He just stared at me, and with me, in mutual disgust for what just happened. “This is, by far, the most disgusting thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said after he cooled down a little, “and I’m sure you can guess that as a member of my profession that’s a bold statement, as I’ve compiled a lengthy list in the last six years!” I considered that a great line, enhanced by the visual that he permitted me to enjoy. As a writer, I figure I probably appreciate great lines more than most, but everyone understands how visuals enhance even the best of lines. I wasn’t sure if he valued great, comedic lines as much as I did, but I wondered if he allowed this glop to remain on his face for a full five seconds, because he thought it might enhance the comedic value of that line.   I don’t know what he was thinking, or if I was assigning my values to his reaction, but my guess is his six years spent as a plumber raised his tolerance level for what others consider unspeakably disgusting. I decided that had to be the case, because I have to guess that some infinitesimal nugget below 100% of the non-plumber population wouldn’t allow the glop, that was not dirt, to remain on their face for a full five seconds, even for laughter. We can all agree that five seconds is a relatively short amount of time, relative to normal situations, but count out five seconds real quick, right here, and imagine leaving a glop, that was not dirt, on your face for that long. I still can’t understand why wiping this glop off his face wasn’t such an instinctual response that he’d have most of it off within two seconds of furious wiping. I now wonder if some part of him thought he was paying homage to the great comedians who proceeded him by physically agreeing to the principle that some of the times we have to suffer for our art. Whatever his reasoning, he delivered one final classic while wiping it all off his face and glasses, “All I can say, and I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad that I need to wear glasses.”