SprinkLers III: The Mire Strikes Back

Long Ago In A Pond Nearby...

The holes have been dug around the offending sprinklers installed in the bottom of a pond. Our hero has been knee deep in pond scum for two days at this point. The swingarms of CPVC have been unearthed up to the mains and exposed enough that the swingarms can be removed and caps put in their place as has been commissioned by Bill.

"Hey, I'll need your help today on those sprinlers."

Translated into the language of reality, this beam of information represents, "You need to do work on the sprinlers today while I dissappear until you're done with the messy stuff."

My day up until this point had involved a physics class and a long, restful stretch of internet browsing. I was not inclined to move from my place in front of the computer since my legs and back were still hurting from the last time I had been hijacked from my proper job and been conscripted into The Battle of Shit Pond.

I do, however, have a work ethic, and it was calling me to the silt.

I went outside and noticed no progress beyond what I had already done. No one else had even made an attempt on this mess. I was angry, but I was not screaming angry.

"Bill?"

"Uh huh?"

"Is there a reason that these holes look the same as they did the other day?"

"Well, we had a change of plan. We decided to just screw a cap on the little swing arms that are exposed there by the surface."

A Conversation From the Day Before:

Casey: Hey, instead of digging these huge holes, let's just dig out the sprinkler, throw a piece of iron in the hole and cap off the arm where it sticks up. It will save us (me) hours of work in that black shit.

Bill: I don't know, I'd rather cap it off at the main. That way the swingarm won't freeze.

Casey: We're going to blow it out this winter, right?

Bill: Let's just dig the holes all the way down to the main.

Casey: That doesn't make sense.

Bill: Trust me on this one.

Back to the present:

"So now we're just gonna cap off the swingarm?"

"Yeah, it'll get blowed out this winter, anyway."

I am angry. The holes have already been dug. Huge holes, three feet deep, filled with fetid water. I am very angry.

"OK, Bill."

I install the caps where I can and repair broken swingarms as I come to them. I take special care not to sink my left hand in the muck. A couple days before, I had injured it and there was an open fracture on my left index finger. An open fracture means that a bone is fractured and exposed. These are caused often by negligence in the saftey aspects of truing brake rotors on mountain bikes. I've heard, anyway.

Eventually all the caps are in place, save two. The rising level of water would not allow me to get into the pipe without using both of my hands under the muck.

I informed Bill, enraptured by an online game of Tetris what had transpired.

"Bill, I got all of them capped off except for two. I marked them with flags. I couldn't get down to 'em without getting that nasty shit in my wound."

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. OK. See you Monday."

To be continued...