(this happened a few months ago)
"A Tale of Disgusting"
or
"When it Rains, it Poos"
or
"Why Does This Paint Look Like Flourescent Ketchup?"
I knew the toilet would clog even before I sat down. I didn't think
much of this, however, as the toilet clogs all the time - it doesn't
function so well, as you have to hold down the handle for a long time
to get it to flush properly, and even when it does flush properly it
doesn't do the best job. Usually when the toilet clogs, a little
jimmy with the sink plunger (which doesnt work well on toilets) will
clear up the mess and get everything moving. Yes, I didn't worry
because this poo wasn't anything extraordinary, but I still had that
intuition. But anyway, I sat down and poo'd because I needed to clear
my bowels before Bri & I got to the manly task of painting. And the
toilet clogged.
For those of you who have seen our apartment, you know the living room
was painted Shitty Orange, and for those of you who haven't, yes, it
was Shitty Orange indeed - quite the gastly color - although tolerable
in low light, it was horrendous in sunlight. Also, because the broker
told us that the landlord would buy us paint, we took the landlord up
on the offer. The project manager, Jim, a regular fuckup who isn't
good for anyone (yeah, a hustler type - the first day we moved in he
explained to us his piano-pushing scheme), begrudgingly bought us
paint because of the broker's promise. I gave him a swatch for a
burgundy-type red, a color to soothe the mind and delight the eyes.
He insisted that he buy the paint because he knew of a "good" place,
and didn't want us to buy some and take money off the rent. So, we
eventually got our paint, and even though Bri and/or Max had opened it
to take a quick look, they failed to notice the color.
We masked the entire living room - always the worst and least
rewarding part of painting - and popped open the paint can.
"Dammit."
The paint was a frightfully bright orange-red (which was still,
however, better than Shitty Orange). I painted a little area on the
bottom of the wall to see how it look, and after long deliberation,
Bri & I ambivalently decided to go ahead and paint the place. Even
though the red was shitty, it wasn't Shitty as the orange (or the rest
of the night). So we applied the first coat, and I got paint all over
the fucking cieling, but thats OK. All the while, remember, the
toilet was still clogged. After we were done, I went to work on the
toilet. After a few minutes, it became apparent that this was not a
run-of-the-mill clog and was probably precipitated in part by the
monster shit that Meredith dropped in our toilet before she left. The
toiling actually made the sight more disastrous - what at first seemed
to be mostly toilet paper soon turned into some putrid emulsification
of poo, water, and toilet paper, with a few random chunks (some black,
some yellow) floating around. The stink - the stink became
progressively worse. I grabbed a wire hanger and bent it in the
attempt to shove it down the toilet hole and knock the blockage loose,
but this was a horrible failure - hangers aren't very strong - and I
ended up with a shitty contorted hanger with poo-soaked toilet paper
remnants on it (see attatched picture). I didn't know how to deal
with this, so I naturally threw it out the front window.
After more tries by Bri & me, it became clear that we needed to get a
proper plunger, so Max looked up the address of the Home Depot in
Manhattan (it was about 10:00 by now). Bri and I drove in with Max's
car, and when we got to the Home Depot we found it closed. At 9:00.
Home Depot's only selling point is its 24 hour service, so why in
God's name do they not have a 24 hour Home Depot in this city of nine
million people, when they have plenty in small towns all over the
country? We called Max, who was asleep (he has work at 3am almost
every day), and asked him to find out if the Home Depot in Brooklyn
was open and where it was.
"Well, it's like, in Brooklyn." (No shit, Max!) Not good enough.
Max was kind enough to call the Home Depot. No one answered, but he
found out that there was a Lowes in Brooklyn that was open until 12.
We got to Lowes at around a quarter after eleven. It is in the most
disgusting area of Brooklyn that I've yet seen - there's a small river
nearby that is the color and opacity of that shit water you can see in
the picture, and I was able to see this rather clearly even at night.
Inside we pondered over the several options available to us: proper
plungers, Draino for toilets, snakes & closet augers. We went with
the plunger - Bri insisted that Draino would be unecessary.
At checkout, I was holding the plunger, and a female employee said to
Bri, "So he clogged the toilet and now you're stuck coming along with
him and cleaning up the mess like its your fault." Oh, if only she
knew how bad the mess was. She said a few more words and we laughed
and left for the car.
The BQE was backed up and it we took the roads, and got a little lost,
though I must say that Bri has an uncanny sense of direction and got
us home (in good time) without a map. There are some nice
neighborhoods in Brooklyn, let me tell you! Fort Greene, some of
Prospect Heights and Clinton Hill and so on. Strangely, even though
it was 12:07 at night, there was this area where Hasids were out and
about, men and women both, as if it were the middle of the day. It
wasn't some congregation ending, I don't think, because it wasn't a
huge mass of people or anything, & it just looked as if they were all
going about their routine business. Fucking insane! What sort of
Satanic Kabbalistic rites were those international jew banker
communists performing at this hour? They have quite the cabal - they
own a huge fleet of school buses, which Bri thinks (based on keen
observations) any Hasid can flag down for a free ride into Manhattan
or wherever else! What in God's name are these people up to? I want
to ask one but I don't know how well I'd be recieved. Either that or
dress as a Hasid and hail a bus, and when I get on, say "Chello!"
("Ch" being the guttural H sound, like "Chumus!" or as you say,
"humus")
We eventually got back and parked Max's car and walked towards the
apartment. Walking up the stairs, I'd hoped that when I got inside,
the paint would look less ugly and more red. As soon as we got
inside, Bri immediately said, "That doesn't look much better." Yep.
We got back to work on the toilet and unfortunately the new plunger
didn't seem to be working very well, though it did do a good job of
sloshing poop water all over the fucking bathroom. We were laughing
hysterically - true hysterics here, with this funny but pathetic
situation - and not doing a damn of good. Bri looked online to see
what we could possibly do, and it didn't seem like much, especially
because by now every hardware store was closed. In a desperate
attempt, Bri grabbed the pliers and bent this thick thick wire hanger
and tried to knock the shit loose. Failure once again. So, we kept
plunging, plunging, plunging. You have no idea how long we did this
for, home much time this all took. I kept switching back and forth
between the new plunger and old because, as the old was smaller I
could fit it further down the poophole, and it seemed to make the
toilet wheeze a little bit. Kept going and going. I kept wonder what
we'd do if the toilet stayed clogged. By now, you see, poo water was
all over the place and the stink was unbearable. If poo could die,
it'd smell no different. The stink was pungent and unlike much I've
smelled before, and I've been in some pretty shitty toilets at
festivals and what have you.
At this point, there was only one thing left to do: pray to Jesus.
I'm serious. When you get in a pickle, pray to Jesus. We did it on
the way a Tool concert two or three summers ago when Bri's car's
breaks went fuckall on us and we thought we weren't going to make it.
Miraculously, the held up for the remainder of the trip to the
Electric Factory (a Nazi venue, I might add). So, I prayed, and I
qualified my prayers with things like "tonight" - you see, you don't
want Jesus fixing your toilet *tomorrow* or next time it clogs in
years, so you have to be specific and firm: "Jesus, please fix my
toilet tonight. I can't bear this stink and I just want to go to
sleep, I'm exhausted." We kept trying to unclog, and still nothing.
Still nothing. For another five minutes. I came back after looking
online and told Bri to be vigorous in his plunging and plunge for
15-20 times. Still nothing. Then:
Success! It worked! Finally! It was about 12:50, and we'd finally
unclogged the toilet! It still smelled horrible and I had to clean up
at least a little bit, which was not pleasant. But my god, when that
toilet drained and the poo water disappeared, I rejoiced in the most
joyous sort of exuberance! You have no idea! You have no idea what
it's like to have this aweful stink permeate your whole apartment, to
have one disaster lopped on top of another misfortune, to have spent
the night painting your living room a shitty color only to have to
deal with a stinking cesspool for the next 3 hours. Finally! Gone!
The stink still remained, however, this ghastly odor that is beyond
shit, at the very core of what it is to be rotting.
Ah, yes, time for sleep. And it really was over. No more surprises.
The next morning, with the apartment a mess from painting, the
bathroom still stunk that odor. I can still smell it, it's not
leaving my nostrils. I was a bit hesitant to shower in that sthink
but I had to, and I just hope I don't reek of uberpoo right now. Oh
god, oh god. Man, I'm tired as fucking hell and I have bags under my
eyes and I look like some fool with my hair like this... oh, but at
least the toilet is unclogged! Great success!
Ha! My boss just came up to me and in his thick Indian accent said,
"Mikecanyou callthebuilding and asksomeone to fix the toilet? The
urinalhasnt been flushingandthe lockisbrokenoffthe stalldoor and
itsstinking in there." hahahahahahaha!
yours truly,
trouted
aka
mikeytwice
Edited by trouted (03/29/05 07:51 AM)
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