Shocked and appalled. My roommate and I went on a cleaning spree in the apartment this afternoon because catching a social disease from touching any of the surfaces within, or losing ourselves in the clutter were becoming real fears.
I was cleaning the toilet in the bathroom and had just finished wiping off all the nastiness when I decided to just throw the wad of paper towel I was using in the bowl. Had I taken another second or two to think about this, I would have considered what an asinine thing that is to do. Toilet bowls are not meant for paper towel disposal and our toilet in particular should never be expected to work so hard to do its job. Short story short, I clogged the toilet. I flushed it, the water rose and then eventually fell, only to rise back up to the tippy top of the bowl when I flushed it again.
I used our plunger on it to no avail. As it turns out, the plungers at IKEA are really more decorative than functional. I sighed a deep loud sigh of exasperation and went to tell my roommate the problem. I told her that the toilet wasn't working, that we needed another plunger, and that, after a few moments of zen by the television, I was going to get one. The message that should have gotten through, since I used the words "clogged" and "not working" is that she SHOULD NOT USE THE TOILET.
I go in the other room for my moments of zen in front of the tv. I lose myself in a countdown of the best songs of the 80s. But I only lost myself in that peaceful brainlessness vh1 induces for 5 minutes or less because before I know it, I hear the sound of the porcelain toilet cover clanking against the body.
My roommate, whose name I will not mention, but which begins with an "S" and ends with an "arah" has taken a tremendous poo in the loo. And I do mean tremendous- we're talking award-winning both in amount and odor. I don't know why she thought that any part of the clog would be fixed by working in the back of the toilet, but then I don't know why she would shit in a broken toilet either.
She sheepishly says that she "totally forgot" what I had said about the toilet and couldn't hold it anyway. Freakin' great, I think, but then I feel badly being mad because this wouldn't be a problem if I hadn't tried to flush an entire roll of paper towel down our loser toilet.
"Ok..." I say, "guess I should really go get that plunger..." Shaws has no toilet plungers I discovered. But you know who does? CVS. I stinking love that place. Is there anything they don't sell? I could write a sonnet singing their praises, but that is for another time.
The CVS plunger didn't cut it though. Sarah generously offered to do the plunging since it was her feces we were dealing with now, but it didn't work. "I think we need a more serious plunger" she said and so we headed off to Target, which is basically CVS on steroids. After locating the plungers, Sarah asks if we can look at bathing suits. I say 'sure' because I think she really means 'look' at them. But then she wants to try them on. My guilt over my part in the toilet situation outweighs my irritation with the request and concern about my poor third roommate sitting at home unable to use the toilet, and so I go along with Sarah to the dressing room.
We eventually make our way home and Sarah goes Rambo on our poor toilet, who really is more the victim than the villain in this tale. Nothing. NOTHING. We panic a little. I say maybe we should get a plumber. We both hate this idea because we don't want to pay for it and aren't sure who would be responsible for the paying anyhow- the original screw up (me) or the person who shat on the problem ergo complicating it (Sarah).
"Draino!" I say. Sarah's dad, who had stopped by and who is empathetic while useless in saving us, says that I should get the strong stuff and use the whole bottle. I leave to go get it and Sarah leaves for dinner reservations. Shaws lets me down again because they are worthless bastards who never have anything I need, and so I again go to CVS and fall in love with them all over again when I find a bottle of "the strong stuff" right on the shelf where I'd expect it.
So now, I'm sitting at home, alone, waiting and praying for the Draino to work its magic, and accepting the fact that I'm going to be peeing in my backyard tonight.