One day, the sewer line（污水管道）under my house burst. My first response was to call the plumber, but when he heard what had happened, he said he couldn't help. “We don't do that,” he said, as if to suggest that even plumbers have their dignity. He did, however, recommend someone. I made the call, expecting the man to complain at such a miserable job. Instead, he simply asked, “The address?”
And that was it. An hour later, Steve arrived in his truck. I watched as he walked down into the damp depths. A few moments later he appeared, saying, “Yes. It's broken.”
“Can you fix it?” I asked with a strange mixture of doubt and hope.
Steve looked at me strangely as if rebuking my lack of faith, and then said, “Sure.” Then he told me that he had to get a backhoe（反铲挖土机）and dig up the street to the main sewer line.
I showed appropriate panic. “How long will all this take?”
“I should have it done by evening.”
I didn't want to watch the excavation（挖掘） of my property unfold. All I wanted was to leave, go somewhere, and, upon my return, have everything the way it was before the damage.
I felt somewhat guilty upon driving off in my clean car, leaving Steve to such a disagreeable task. I went into town and visited a few friends. Eventually, around 6 p.m., my curiosity got the better of me. I went home, and a sweeter sight I never saw: a patch of newly-paved street and a covered-up excavation across my front garden. I opened the basement door and—all was tidy and relatively dry.
I sat down on the back garden, lost in thought. I was taken by the very idea that, whatever crisis might happen to an unlucky homeowner, there is somebody, somewhere, who is practiced in its resolution. If that's not reason for thankfulness, I'm not sure what is.
