Be Careful What You Wish For
My toilet is broken. About a week ago Sunday, after a particular boozy night for The Ex, the toilet simply stopped flushing. Water would fill it but the actual flush part wouldn't happen. The water would slowly drain away but only after coming right to the lip of the bowl. Visions of disgusting floods suffered by us and the neighbors below filled me with dread. Consequently, I have been going to the gym every day to poo. Some days I would just go ahead and do my whole morning toilette at the NYSC. My theory, since at some point during The Ex's lurching drunkenly around the house he managed to knock over two entire shelves of toiletries, was that some small something or other had fallen in and been flushed. It was enough of an obstruction to block the flushing but still let water through. In any case, I let The Ex handle calling "the Super" who would call the plumber and make repairs. A week ago. I enjoyed my daily e-mails letting me know the plumber was coming on Thursday. Or Friday. Make that Saturday. First thing Monday. You know she was too through. I am doomed to a life of doing everything myself. So I wake up today and pick up the phone and leave a scathing message to "the Super" explaining that two grown men in NYC really can't go a week without a working toilet and if he was not prepared to get a plumber I would call one myself and deduct the cost from the rent. That got us some attention. Apparently our plumber has been non-responsive and is now officially closed for the holiday. A new plumber was hired over the phone and arrived around 8pm. At triple overtime I'm sure but I ain't payin. I mean, it's not like I can use the toilet in my "other" house. Or use the neighbors: "hi, I came over to borrow a cup of poop at your place."
The drain was snaked and pronounced OK. How that could be I don't know. A toilet that works but doesn't? The entire thing was removed and the pipe from our floor out is clear. Upon further inspection, there is in fact a plastic or glass bottle stuck in the ceramic toilet. Further proof that drunken lurching about has unexpected consequences and maybe a 42 year old gay man who does this almost every weekend ought to learn to drink like an adult and not like a frat boy.
Repeated attempts to remove it have so far, failed.
