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One hot summer I worked for the "L'il Stinker" company, a guy down the street from us that pumped septic tanks. It actually wasn't a bad job. Most of my day was spent driving all over backwoods San Diego County in a big white pickup truck (San Diego County still had backwoods then). My job was to get to the customer in advance of the tank truck, find the septic tank, and dig down to the lid so everything would be ready when "Sweeney" got there with the tank truck. The tank truck was great--huge black monster with two white stripes running down the back, a picture of a skunk, and his phone number. If you saw it once, you remembered it instantly whenever your toilets backed up.

Over the course of the summer "Sweeney" told me a number of interesting and possibly true stories. This has always been one of my favorites.

Sweeney got called out to this house in Rancho Santa Fe, a very ritzy suburb. Typical problem, the toilets are backing up. Young husband answers the door, tells him the tank is "out there" somewhere. Sweeney goes out, finds and uncovers the tank, takes a look inside. It's got zillions of condoms happily floating on top of the, ah, other contents. They've floated up against the outflow hole, thereby blocking up the whole system. Sweeney walks back up to the house and brings the guy out to show him what the problem is. The guy is obviously stunned, so Sweeney starts to explain that condoms don't do well in a septic tank. The guy cuts him off and says between clenched teeth, "I don't use them." He thinks it over for a minute, writes Sweeney a check for the full bill, and tells him to just leave it like it is. To this day he has no idea what happened when the wife got home.

[Ed: Reportedly an Urban Legend]

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