Late one night I was setting up muffin mixtures while the kitchen staff greased pans for the morning’s bread. The restaurant was still full but everyone had been served and we would soon be able to close. It had been a long hectic day and I was more than ready for my pillow.
Suddenly there was a God-awful stench and I mean stench with a capital “S”! The grey-water soak-away had erupted and the restaurant smelled like rotten eggs, REALLY rotten eggs. Peering out the kitchen window I saw what looked like a geyser from Yellowstone Park. Liquid was spewing up from the ground and it stank to high heaven. Evidently the soak-away hadn’t been properly vented and methane gas had forced the ground covering it to explode.
The dining room had gone totally silent. Daring to peek through the swinging doors I could see customers gingerly eating, or trying to eat, what was left of their meals. The look of disgust on their faces was understandable, the terrible smell was overpowering. My waiters were dashing about with their t-shirts pulled over their heads while wails of, “Oh Gawd! Murder!” could be heard from the house next door.
I grabbed some empty Heineken boxes and a few rocks and desperately tried to position them on top of the hole. I finally managed to get it covered, although the cardboard was pulsing ominously up and down under the rocks. Having no ‘phone, I shouted up the hill to tell Mac what had happened and he went in search of help.
Mac waited until the last guest had left (coward!) before joining me at the restaurant. He instructed me to make two fish pizzas for the work crew he had organized, and to leave them with a bottle of strong rum. They would have to bail out the soak-away during the night so that it could be fixed the next day.
On my return at 4:00 A.M. I was relieved to see that the men had almost finished their task. Not surprisingly the strong rum had been finished too! The smell still lingered but it was certainly more bearable, and I was grateful to the five men who had worked so hard throughout the night at short notice.
Before I started my bread dough I made some fried egg sandwiches and took them outside, where four hands gratefully reached for the food. I knew five men had been working and had made five sandwiches, where was the fifth man?
A muffled shout was heard from the bottom of the smelly pit, and the fifth sandwich was handed down to the man below. Yummy!