Sometimes, after mucking a sump, there's a smell that permeates your soul.
It smells like regret and despair
You didn't muck the sump because it would be fun. You didn't muck the sump because it was just that time of year and a good time to do it. You mucked the sump because there was something wrong with it.
It had sump livers floating in it. Midway between the bottom and the top.
Not quite solid enough to grab, but more than solid enough to clog up us a pump. Hidden just under the surface. With a dusty oil content that cannot be washed off with even strong soap. The best you can do is just rub it off as best you can.
Sometimes that sump is 5 years old. And all the little fines that can work their way through the chip conveyor are waiting at the bottom of it to prick you through your glove
The glove that has filled full of coolant and sadness.
And you're always aware, in the back of your mind, that this could be the time that some fungus and some form of tetanus will cross and make the monkey pox Ebola that ends society. The only cure for it will be MRSA. And you will be patient zero. And it will come from this sump.