- We all go through moments in our lives where we say to ourselves, "This
can't be happening." If these moments were to happen on TV, they
would make for great drama, or in some cases great comedy. But they're
not particularly good theater if they're happening to you.
Last nite, I had one of those moments.
I went to the pharmacy to pick up my meds, and then decided to walk to Borders and browse for awhile. I was hungry, and being the junk food machine that I am, I decided to stop on the way at the Taco Bell/KFC. After feasting on Chicken Littles, Potato Wedges, and a chicken burrito, I kept on my journey to Borders, where I perused the aisles for forty minutes, picking up the Air CD that I'd been looking for.
However, two minutes into my walk, I started to get that familiar feeling in my stomach -- my dinner had spent their customary hour in my stomach, and now wanted to remind me of why it's called "fast food". Twenty-eight minutes from home, with no public restrooms along the way, I knew I was in trouble. Not wanting to dash off to the bushes and risk being illuminated by passing motorists, I decided to try and make it back home. To take my mind off my stomach, I thought about football and what a privileged asshole John Elway is.
As I fumbled at the front door with my keys, I was feeling relieved -- I thought I was going to make it. I made a beeline for the john. However, I was wearing buttonflys, which I can't just pull down, so while I struggled to get them off, and uh...well you remember how I said that I always make it to the toilet just in time? Well, I should have knocked on wood -- I didn't. My favorite jeans and the outside of the bowl got hit when my butt exploded. To add to that, I was doing laundry, so I was going commando without any boxers on. Anyhow, Ray's bathroom became a huge, unprecedented mess. Lucky for me, he and Das were at the Ratt-Great White-Poison show in Universal City (thank god for the Glam Rock revival!), and his mom was upstairs watching TV.
Throwing my contaminated pants and socks into the washing machine, I put on some shorts and started cleaning up. Naturally, Ray was out of toilet paper, so I had to wipe with some kleenex, and then got a roll of paper towels. I flushed continuously, so that the paper wouldn't bunch up and cause an overflow. I was hoping Ray's mom wouldn't hear all the flushing and wonder what the fuck was going on. I was also hoping Ray would be at the concert late. After finally getting all the shit cleaned up and throwing the last few paper towel sheets in the toilet, I flushed. But the toilet had enough of my shit (literally), and decided to come back up.
So the toilet overflowed, and then I had a new mess on my hands. I was trying to hold up one of the toilet valves to prevent anymore water from entering the tank and contributing to the greatest flood since Noah. Eventually the water stopped, and now I had to clean up a floor full of water. In addition, I couldn't find a plunger anywhere in the house, so I tried jamming a bowl cleaner to clean out the jam. That didn't work, and I nearly jammed that into the toilet drain -- I had to pull it out with two hands. Afraid that Ray's mom would come downstairs, or that Ray would come back at any minute, I did the quickest solution possible that I could think of -- I threw a roll-and-a-half of paper towels and two cloth towels on the floor of the bathroom and let it all soak in.
I managed to wipe it all up and threw all the towels away, but I still didn't have a plunger to fix the clog problem with the toilet. So I wrote a couple of notes for Ray and left the light on in the john, in case he stumbled in drunk and wouldn't notice it in the dark. I sprayed half-a-bottle of disinfectant in the air and the floor, both to cover the smell of the crap and to try and kill some nasty toilet germs. I rewashed my jeans and socks and found that I left my Zippo in my jeans, making it unusable for a while, and then I cleaned a bit of crap off one of my Air Max Triaxes (my favorite shoes and I got shit on them! My shit!), took a shower, and 90 minutes after this ordeal began, I went to sleep.
I felt a little better this morning when I read that in the San Fernando Valley, a Y2K preparation test at a sewage plant backfired, spilling 4 million gallons of untreated sewage into nearby parks and streets. Luckily, workers managed to spare a golf course from any contamination.