It doesn't, because you're so smooth

"Hold on, I'm not crawling through any sewer pipes," you insist as you pull free from Dana's grasp.

"But you promised you would help us," coos Dana.

In a panic, your mind races. You dredge up distant memories of those days you worked for your uncle. Images flash in your head like a slide show, images of wrenches and pipes, of disgusting sewer grates, of the Eta Pi house, of the trees you passed to get here...

"Oh, I'll help you all right. But let me guess. The contractor told you had problems with your sewer pipes?"

"Well, yes..." Dana replies.

"Because of tree roots?" you ask, crossing your fingers.

"Yes!" Dana eyes brighten.

"And it will cost you an arm and a leg to fix it, right?"

"Yes," responds Dana a third time, this time with a look of concern.

"Oldest trick in the book," you lie. "I can fix it with a stop-cock ball-gag flush valve. They cost like $2. I just need to check your bathrooms."

"Is that so?" Dana arches a pretty eyebrow.

"Absolutely," you say as sincerely as you can. You channel the night of your prom, and last moments of your date's virginity.

"Well, I'll have to give the contractor a tongue-lashing over this. Our budget is tight enough as it is without fabricated charges," Dana declares indignantly.

"Yeah, you do that. I'll go check your bathrooms," you say from halfway up the stairs. And in a flash, you're gone.