Can you dig it?

I decided that I wanted to sort of get a jump on my upcoming constructional whiz-a-ma-goggery, so I dug a hole in the back yard. Yes, it sounds a little crazy, until I explain: I have to remove the palm tree that grows at the corner of where the existing foundation is and is sort of in the way of where the new foundation is going to go. So, armed with my trusty shovel (and slathered in SPF 45), I set out to dig a space around the base of the tree to make it easier to pull out. Of course, things immediately started to go wrong.
I started out by piercing the ground with my spade, only to be whacked by a frond. Looking up, I decided that this job was going to have to begin with some trimming. So, I cut off most of the fronds that were hanging down in my way. That’s when I noticed the bees. Apparently, it is flowering time for that particular palm, so it was simply covered in bees. I figured that since I wasn’t going to be doing any more frond-hacking, I should be safe (even in light of my recent insect incidences). Did a bee whiz down to butt against me? Of course, silly! This is me we are talking about. Fortunately, I did not freak out and scream like a little sissy: I simply stood still until it was safe to move again. Problems solved, right? Hah! Bitches, you know me: this story is just getting started. So, free of both bees and fronds, I begin to dig my circular way around the base of this palm. I get maybe half of the way around before I hear chunk.
It’s a sound I know all too well: that of a shovel on concrete. See, when I was in my later teens, my mom went through a major landscaping phase and guess who had to dig the holes? That’s right! Now, the fun part of the story comes when I tell you that apparently the contractors who had built the particular neighborhood my parents live in decided to use their backyard as the dump for the project. So, I pulled up all kinds of interesting things (old metal paint cans, cinder blocks, rolls of linoleum, two-by-fours) as I dug the holes for mom. It was uncanny: she was like a construction debris witch (as opposed to a water witch) or something. Without fail, wherever she wanted to plant something, there would be at least one cinder block (usually three or four). Each time, I had to dig up whatever it was I had chunked down upon.
So, of course, why should my own backyard be any different? I figured that it was just a block, and that I would move on with my life after I dug it up. So, I moved about a foot behind it and chunk. I move a foot to the left. Chunk. A foot to the right. Chunk. Two feet back. Chunk. I decide to just be completely ridiculous and move six feet away. Oh yes, you guessed it: chunk. I could continue on in this vein, but what would be the point? The end result is a 6x9 hole in the yard that has revealed three adjoining concrete pads poured about six inches below the level of the ground. As I worked to excavate them, I kept thinking: what’s under this? Because the thought that someone would dig a hole, pour three concrete pads into a 6x9 area, and then cover them back up with dirt is just to inconceivable. I have decided that these slabs are either covering up the remains of an old septic system or the remains of three people. Since tonight is the full moon, I figure this would be the perfect time for them to rise from their graves and wreak undead vengeance upon those who murdered them. Either that, or they will attack me, since we all know zombies are just all about the brains. I guess I’ll find out sooner or later. You’ll know I’ve been zombified if my next post reads something like this: “brains… brains… brains…” If that happens, you know what you have to do.