It takes a lot of nerve for a girl to admit she’s clogged the toilet. And well, I did it to a complete stranger. Let me tell you the whole story…
Regardless of where Roscoe Kitty decides to leave his poop (litter box or floor), I flush it to not only eliminate the smell as soon as possible, but save some plastic baggies. Well, as usual, I came home and had to pick up this “surprise” off of the floor- and flushed it. When I returned back to the bathroom to wash my hands, I heard the toilet make a funny gurgling sound. Instincts told me to flush it- and there I stood watching it fill up– just to the rim and stop! before overflowing. I huffed and puffed and figured whatever was jammed in there would “soften” up and slide away with the next flush. Twenty minutes later, nothing.
This happened for a good couple of hours- flush, fill, wait twenty minutes for it to drain, flush- until I realized I couldn’t get the darn thing to work (key note at this point of the short story, I don’t have a plunger). So, I went to bed. In the morning I awoke to the same conditions… and the urge to pee! And what may one ask I do with a toilet out of commission? Ugh, walk to Sage. Upon returning (six-thirty in the morning by the way) I decided to google solutions. I tried the ‘ol wire hanger trick, dish soap and then resulted to searching local drug stores that would have a plunger in stock.
Well, on my lunch I marched right over to CVS only to find out that they do not sell plungers in the store and that I would have to purchase one online. Every one in the office seemed to get a kick out of the story and even made suggestions as to how to clear the problem. Once I (finally) got home from class, I tried the buckets of hot water trick. Nothing. Now I really had to pee and really had to resolve this issue. I gathered my keys and wellies bag and headed back to Sage- in search of a plunger that I could borrow for the evening.
Conclusion: there is not a single plunger in any of the six bathrooms that I raided. So what did I do? I marched up to a building that I could clearly see was locked, and banged on the door until the maintenance man who was sweeping came to the door. Older gentleman, looked really pissed and actually yelled at me to go away because the building was closed. I kindly shouted “I have a question!” Here was our exchange:
man: “Well, go!” me: “I need a plunger.” man: “Why?” me: “For a toilet.” man: “Which one?” me: “Mine. It’s clogged. I live on…” man who cut me off: “Nope.” me: “I live right on ____, I’m an employee.”
He looked at me, smirked, and opened the door. He then kindly led me to a closet and loaded up my welly bag with a plunger. I ran out of there so red in the face and yelled back that I would return in a few minutes. Before I knew it, Roscoe and I were in the bathroom battling the poopy-wad. And won. I gave it a couple test-flushes before running back out to Sage.
But it wasn’t the whole asking for a plunger thing that was embarrassing; it was the fact that when I returned to campus, there sat the maintenance man, with three public safety officers giggling. The man was even giggling when he told me that I made his night because no person, let alone woman, has ever asked him for a plunger. My response as I darted away: shit happens!
I passed these three cars four times and didn’t even notice them until my last trip walking back to my apartment. Three Honda Fits, sport model, all the same color blue. Nothing significant, but really? All three this close together on one block?
Although I wasn’t responsible for the poopy-wad, I was the one who flushed it. Have you ever had to admit that you clogged the toilet?