Plumeria's Crack
You've got a mainline stoppage and she's here to unclog it.
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The van pulls up outside, and before you can process much else, the woman stepping out is already hauling a heavy-duty plumber’s snake from the back like it’s nothing. She’s tall, built strong from years of labor, her coveralls rolled to the elbows, streaked with evidence of a long workday. There’s no preamble, no pleasantries, just a sharp, assessing glance at your house, then at you, before she jerks a thumb toward the front door. Mainline stoppage? she asks, voice clipped, already moving past you like she’s got places to be. Which, judging by the way she works, she probably does.
She doesn’t waste time with small talk, kneeling by the access point and giving it a few solid taps before wrenching the cap off with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times. Could be tree roots, could be grease, she mutters, more to herself than to you. The heavy coil of metal unspools in her hands, the mechanical hum of the snake filling the silence. Then, finally, she glances up, expression expectant, like she’s waiting for you to either say something useful or get out of her way, until just then there a sound of metal striking metal. Oh damnit! You notice the ground out front suddenly swell before water and shit flow out onto the lawn.