THE STUFF STOPS HERE

…in which Uncle Duke tells you stuff he knows.

I am fairly intimate with sewage. We are on a first name basis, and I know when it is not well. It’s actually pretty temperamental and gets its feelings hurt often.

With good reason. It’s not easy being sewage. It leads a very complex and diverse life. It is often misunderstood and is the object of considerable disgust. There is much disrespect that accompanies the word even. Sludge, the stabilized by-product of sewage, changed its name to “biosolids” to avoid the stigma that went along with the word SLUDGE. It was too great a cross to bear. “Biosolids” is actually a positive, 90’s kind of word. It implies the natural, organic enrichment process. It is something you would gladly put on your petunias. The PR boys had a major coup with that one. Sewage, on the other hand, remains sewage. They tried “waste water”, which is now the official term. But “waste water” is not much more desirable in your backyard than sewage. People don’t want “waste water” backing up in their basements any more than they wanted sewage. The sanitation spin-doctors are still working on that one.

It’s a fascinating jungle in there. The more primitive life forms (bacteria, amoebas, etc.) battle for dominance with the more complex protozoan life forms (rotifers, flagellates, ciliates, etc.). The aerobic forms (the ones that need oxygen) struggle with the anaerobic forms (the ones that do very nicely without it). As conditions change (pH, oxygen, temperature, etc.) different microorganisms become dominant. It is a world like many others, with a limited food supply, an environment with numerous competitors, both predators and browsers, and life cycles of birth, death and reproduction. It is a microcosm of our own world. There are a million stories going on every second. Our waste products are their food source and the medium in which they swim. It is a convenient arrangement, one from which we both benefit greatly.

It is certainly true that our human history and sewage treatment are intertwined. When our primary treatment was handled by dung beetles, we lived in small, remote villages. Sewage collection and treatment systems have enabled people to live in close proximity. Without wastewater treatment, no big cities. Period. And indoor plumbing definitely made it possible to populate iceboxes like Minnesota.

If you’ve noticed, humans are by and large not comfortable with their own waste products. They are in fact scared to death of it. I however am not afraid of it. I am not threatened by sewage. I look at it flush in the face every day, and I feel no fear. It is much more benign than the doctors and the scientists would have us believe. It is true there are some disease-carrying organisms in sewage. But the human body itself is a virtual warehouse of malevolent organisms. I maintain that if we knew about all the ugly little bugs and microbes thriving in the human body, none of us would ever make love again. Our personal waste delivery systems are after all not far from our pleasure centers. We’d all wear rubber gloves and masks and do it in test tubes. There is ample fungus among us. You should see the mites that live in our eyebrows. They make Godzilla look like a newt. We are disease laden, full of squirmy, little bugs and covered with microscopic dust. And no amount of expensive soap or designer toilet water will make us any cleaner.

But sewage gets the rap. In other periods of history we lived largely by superstition and fear. That which we did not understand, we feared, avoided, banished. Which is what we do with sewage. There is a chance it will make us sick or even kill us, so we stay as far away from it as possible. At the same time, we design and ride ever-more exotic roller coasters to give us that near-death experience. We jump out of airplanes, go over waterfalls, climb treacherous mountains, tag sharks and squiggle into deep, dark caves. This we do to challenge ourselves. I say, I’ll take my chances with sewage. I challenge my immune system every day---to see if I’m made of the right stuff. Sewage treatment operators have one of the lowest absentee rates in the nation. They can dish it out, and they can take it too.

When I am in the company of elegant, cultured people, I admit I feel a certain sense of superiority. I know they are absolutely and blissfully unaware of the inner workings of a septic tank. They don’t know what happens when they flush. Where does it go? What happens to it? They don’t know. They don’t care. But I do. My knowledge goes on down the sewer lateral, into the main trunk, into the lift station, up to the treatment plant and finally into the receiving stream. I know about this stuff.

And I also know that they are all sewage makers. They may wear expensive clothes and well-engineered underwear. They may know stocks and bonds and art and software. But I know what they do when they lock the bathroom door. They try to flush the evidence, but I see it on down the line. And it’s OK. I am not disgusted by it. I know their worst secrets---that they are filled with sewage. I am, as I say, fairly intimate with their waste products, and I do not hate them for it.

I am like the forgiving Christian God who knows your worst secrets, that which you would tell no one. I know. And I am not shocked, not offended. You are part of the great whole, and I love you anyway. (I do wish however that you wouldn’t flush those little plastic doo-hickeys down the toilet---the ones that say on the box: “Dispose of properly”. This is not a black hole here, People! And when you practice safe sex, you don’t think anyone will ever see your little ultra-sensitive membrane again? Those things are not biodegradable. What you put in the toilet will come bobbing up somewhere down the line. Use some sense, for crying out loud!

In the grand scheme of things, everything is in the process of becoming something else. Things pass through us, become something else, and perhaps pass through us again. Eventually we ourselves pass and become nutrients, elementary fertilizer for new generations. We are all in transition from one state to another, and I’m not entirely sure one state is better than any other. Are the bugs here to clean up after us, or are we here to feed the bugs? Good question, Uncle Duke. Stuff thou art, and to stuff thou shalt return.