“So Sewer Me . . .”

Squibs & Blurbs

by Jerry Zimmerman

TEANECK, NJ—(Weekly Hubris)—4/12/10—I’ve come to hate the sound of running water. That is, the sound of water running inside my house, in places it shouldn’t be at all.

I’ve owned three houses in Teaneck, NJ, a town I’ve lived in for 36 years. I’ve been here that long because I like the town. It has older homes with character, as the whole town was pretty much built in the 1930’s, after the George Washington Bridge opened up New Jersey to all those isolated and yearning-to-be-free (we want a house we can afford!) Manhattanites. This gorgeous bridge was completed in 1931, and what followed was an orgy of home building for years afterward.

Teaneck also has the great good sense to be very close to New York City, the actual center of the universe, while still looking and feeling like a town, a place with tree-lined streets, parks, garages for your cars, stores nearby, and as diverse a population as may be found in very few other places.

When I first came to Teaneck to visit a friend, my wife and I were living on the Upper West Side in New York. I couldn’t believe that, 12 minutes away from Broadway and 93rd Street, was an idyllic town, with streets canopied by glorious old trees and kids safely playing in their yards, just like my 1950’s hometown—12 minutes away! My wife and I were sold.

I’ve been a very happy homeowner in Teaneck all these years. But water has been a frequent scourge for many of us here. Roofs may leak, the water table may rise, hurricane-like storms may invade your homes, sewer lines may crack and clog.

And here I am standing in the basement of my latest Teaneck house, gazing over the gently undulating surface of the small pond that is forming at one end of my finished (!) downstairs room. Although this has happened before, both here and in my other homes, it is not something I desire or appreciate in any way, shape, or form; in fact, it can drive me to serious distraction.

The bad news: my main sewer line is backed up (remember all those beautiful, large trees with their beautiful, large root systems?). The good news: so far, only my washing machine water has backed up, leaving clothes-water on the floor instead of sewage.

I will spare you the gory details of wet-vacc-ing all night, several professional attempts at snaking out the lines, and the eventual major-event digging up and replacing of the whole outside line under my front yard, accomplished under the guidance of “Moose,” the lead sewer guy, who comes on with all the people-skills of an injured pit bull, but who turned out to be a willing listener and an attentive worker. Despite all his macho bravado, he took my advice and ended up saving my two front trees rather than unceremoniously ripping them out because they might be in the way (the crew’s first brilliant idea). So, thanks, Moose!

Who knew that having a clean and clear sewer line could be such a delight?! Relieved to be back to normal again, I have the sense of having passed through an old and familiar ritual; the sudden disruption of routine, the angst of the situation, the appraisal of the solution, and the satisfaction of working through the problem with house-crisis experience and seriously focused attention. Even the sleepless nights of worry and constant evaluation of all my choices seemed very familiar—not pleasant, but familiar.

It was just a pipe. And the water is flowing. And the basement is dry.

For now.