Moira nearly hugged him. “Harry, you’re a miracle worker! How can I thank you?”
That afternoon, as Harry sat in the warm, steamy window of Soggy Dumpling, dipping dumplings in black vinegar, his phone buzzed again. A text from a woman in Kelburn: “Help. My bathtub is filling up with… is that seaweed? I live on a hill.”
The high-pressure jetter was a beast. It fired water at 4,000 psi—enough to strip paint off a battleship. Harry fed the hose into the pipe, braced his boots against the curb, and pulled the trigger. drain unblocking wellington
On his screen, he saw the problem: not just the usual congealed fat and mystery noodles. It was a glove . A thick, rubbery dishwashing glove, inflated like a pale, floppy jellyfish, had wedged itself right where the restaurant’s pipe met the main city sewer.
“Harry!” she shouted over the gurgle of water. “It’s catastrophic. The whole kitchen is backing up. It smells like a tidal wave of old soy sauce and regret. My lunch rush is in two hours!” Moira nearly hugged him
VRRRRRRRRRT.
Harry grabbed his kit: the heavy-duty auger, the high-pressure jetter (which he’d nicknamed “The Eel”), and his most prized possession—a tiny, waterproof inspection camera he called “Pīpī,” meaning “baby” in Māori. A text from a woman in Kelburn: “Help
Harry packed up his gear, wiping his hands on his oil-stained jersey. “Just make me a plate of pork and chive dumplings. And for goodness’ sake, tell your kitchen hands to stop putting gloves down the sink.”