"YOU'RE PANICING, MIKE."

Some people have shrinks. Other's confide in men or women of the cloth. Still others tell all to someone close, taking solace in the words of wisdom of a friend, spouse or family member. For me, I rely on the tried and true perspective of my honeydipper- Morris Cooper. No one can calm my nerves and relax my furrowed brow like an experienced septic man.
Not wanting to incriminate myself, I can't tell you what particular septic system I'm talking about. Lets just say it's in the western part of the county. I made the calculated risk to purchase an old farm house on a postage stamp size piece of property with an old spring well and barely discernable septic. Being a good citizen I got the place engineered. But being engineers they designed a system for a small municipality. Fuck that. So I called up Morris and asked if he could put in a bare bones, workable "upgrade of an existing system"? "No problem." he said in his trademark growl.
Then, after he put it in, all hell broke loose. The asshole, hillbilly satanist, neighbors dropped a dime to the building inspector. I dealt. Then a camera appeared, trained on the house. I dealt again. But what really made me start to twitch was the new system immediately filled with water. I called Morris. He reassured me that this happens all the time. I felt better. But two weeks later the water is still gurgling out of the waste pipe. Prozac does not fix this. So I called Morris again. In a doctorly tone he told me "You're panicing, Mike. Give it some time. Things will settle down. That new ground has to set. Every thing's gonna be OK." And, Goddamnit I believe him. Worse case scenerio we have to put in a curtain drain in the Spring. In with the good. Out with the bad. Yes, I still wish my neighbors would die in a fiery car crash but I trust in my honeydipper. My shit is his bread and butter.