Super Sewage Sunday
I didn’t get as much reading done this weekend as I hoped. Instead, at half-time of the Super Bowl, I had to deal with a plumbing emergency of epic proportions at my parent’s beach house. I started a load of laundry, and a clog somewhere in the plumbing system of the house caused the water from the washing machine to find an alternate route of escape — so sudsy water poured over the top of both toilets; and water from the toilets — destined for the sewer — came bubbling up into the tub. It looked like some type of scene from a horror movie. Brown murky water bubbling and threatening to unearth some ungodly creature.
I spent an hour bailing water out of both bathtubs with an empty 5 gallon Butter Caramel Pecan ice cream bucket. For a moment, after spilling a particularly large bucket down the front of my shirt and realizing I smelled like sewage, I just sat down in the hall and thought, “If my life were a sit-com, this would be funny. If my life were a TV drama, they are going to find a dead body blocking my plumbing system.” The verdict is still out on that, by the way.
This is not the first time in my life where I have felt a panic attack forming as I watch water stream out of an unstopabble toilet. The first time was in the apartment I lived in after I came home from Japan. A mechanism in the toilet broke and water poured out of the top of the toilet at an alarming rate — the only way I could stop it was put my finger down into the little-spouty-thing and stop the flow the water: Like the story of the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dike. You see…I did not realize I could turn off the water to the toilet. And after staying glued to the toilet for a half-an-hour, I was finally relieved by the building supervisor who was alterted to the problem because I had flooded my downstairs neighbor. Oops. He came up, looked at me with shock, turned off the water at the base of the toilet and said in a surprisingly not-condescending tone, “Yeah. If there’s a next time…just turn the water off.” Right. Oops.