The trash can in my half bath was removed after the events in this post. Sorry, no metrics on cost savings, time to complete the job, or total bourbons required to figure out what to do. Time to enter the lighter side of Big B's blog. This one is for fun.
The story starts at the local piano bar a few years BC (before children). Our favorite guy is playing tonight. He looks like a smaller version of Newman, but sounds just like Billy Joel. We're having a great time with a bunch of friends, but Newman quits playing too early. No problem. Time to implement Plan B, which means heading over to Big B's house. We met some new people on the way out, and in hindsight, inviting them over was not the greatest idea.
The stereo is turned up, a drinks are poured, and a tiny mob enters the living room. The great time continues for quite some time. Towards the end of the party, I see water flowing out of the half bath. Yikes. People scatter, towels are thrown on the floor, the toilet is shut down, and the guilty party runs for the hills (one of our new friends). Nothing stops a party faster than a clogged toilet, and the bulk of the mob disappears. Time to get the plunger.
Let's face it. The half bath on the main level of your house takes a lot of abuse. The room is centrally located and very handy. Heck, the throne in there is fair game for just about anyone who comes over. This much throughput is likely to cause your half bath to see more than its fair share of traffic jams.
The story gets more interesting the next morning. Much later the next morning. I walk into the bathroom to inspect the damage, and notice a familiar aroma. The place smells bad. Hmmmm. I didn't operate the plunger last night. Maybe the operation failed. Time to run through the checklist:
- Ensure water valve is turned on.
- Raise lid and inspect bowl for any fallout.
- None found (that's weird).
- Plunge toilet again several times.
- Ensure floor is clear of fallout.
- None found (weirder).
Me: You've got to see this $%&*
Her: What?
Me: Look in the trash can.
Her: Oh $@#&
Two turds were neatly wrapped up in toilet paper and then deposited in the trash can. Since rubber gloves weren't available for use in this project, I only had one question.
Me: Why would someone do some crazy )#%^ like that?
Her: I don't know, but it looks like your @+)% out of luck.
Me: No way dude, I'm not cleaning up that ^&%*
So I got my &+$# together, went outside, and threw the trash can in the dumpster. Hours later, the odor faded. The trash can was never replaced. In fact, the topic was never discussed.
Want a more serious story about toilet repair? Click here.
