Aug 10, 2010

No tire de la cadena del inodoro

Phot0 by J Clutter

Today I come home from work and I have a lovely sign on my door that states, " In the next few days, we will be in the neighborhood reconstructing certain sewer pipes in need of repair." It goes on to say that our sewer service connection will be temporarily sealed off and our cooperation is needed:
1.) Do not wash clothes or dishes (Are you serious? We have so much laundry in this house that we rarely if ever are able to visualize our living room sofa. The clothes line, dryer and washer are NEVER...repeat NEVER empty.)
2.) Do not take showers or baths ( I can't even go here with the pee sheets and pee pajamas and pee people every morning. (No, not me. I only pee my pants when I cough, sneeze, drink too much coffee, water, tea, soda, pick up anything weighing over 20 lbs, or laugh too hard.)
3.) Do not flush toilets. No tire de la cadena del inodoro. Even the boy asks, "Mom do we just let the poo pile up all day?" Gag.
4.) Turn off sump pumps which are connected to the sewer service. Or in Spanish which sounds so much more poetic, " Apague las bombas que estan conectadas al servico de drenaje." What is a sump pump but more importantly do I have one?

I am assuming that the old company that blew the neighborhood up a few years back without notice lost their contract. Now we have an obviously more professional company who is warning us in writing that they are about to blow our neighborhood up. You think I'm kidding?

I happened to be home on that fateful day. The teen just got off of the toilet when it began to make foreboding noises. I assumed she had plugged it up as she does on a fairly routine basis and reached for the plunger. Thank God I moved my face just in time as i barely avoided the Vesuvius like-toilet eruption. Fortunately, I am quite good in emergency situations dealing with bodily waste and reacted quickly. I flung open the bathroom window for ventilation, slammed the toilet seat down and bathroom door shut and wedged a towel beneath the door frame. Even so the smell of methane gas was nearly overpowering. Our physical therapist was here for one of the kids therapy sessions and I can still picture the look on her face and the tears running down her cheeks. Sorry, Cheryl.

Here's a fun fact: I have worked pediatrics so long I can name the intestinal bacteria a pediatric client is suffering from simply through fart identification. I should be on a game show. "Yes! I can name that fart in two toots! That fart is definitely a clostridium difficile fart and not rotavirus, Alex." Can you imagine the olfactory processing overload what with an entire neighborhoods' sewer-sludge flowing through my house? And God bless my neighbors who were NOT at home during the eruption. Their bathroom did not fare too well as "lava and ash" were all over the walls if you get my drift.

I was thankful that the teenager was not on the volcanic throne when it erupted. What counselor specializes in that kind of trauma therapy?

Brace yourselves, however for the most horrifying aspect of the explosion. There was an un-sinkable turd in our toilet. What's so bad about that you ask after all we had been through? I'm glad you asked. It wasn't our turd. Whoever owned it must have been eating styrofoam because that stinking thing wouldn't flush for hours.

I sit here reading the instructions trying hard to be thankful in spite of the past. Trying to be grateful for the hours and days and years we do have flush toilets. Thankful for the "break" from laundry and dishes. Thankful that I have to work tomorrow. Then i notice this on the bottom of the placard:

"We have enjoyed being your neighbor - if only for a day."

Yeah, right. Like I believe that one. Here...pull my finger.

1 comment:

walk2write said...

I've been reading your last few posts and laughing with tears in my eyes. You're better than Carol Burnett and Erma Bombeck combined. I'm glad I saw your comment on The Floria Blogger's site. You lead an interesting life to say the least.