You know, there are certain objects that, despite their astoundingly useful existence, never really get the credit they deserve. A can opener, for instance. That is the sort of thing that you just never think about until you suddenly discover you are powerless to get into that tin of cream of mushroom. Sure, you could puncture it with a knife enough times to pry the lid off, I suppose, and after a trip to the emergency room you might even be able to enjoy your lunch. But the can opener is an object with only one specific purpose, and it performs this job so swimmingly that no other tool even comes close.These are the things I thought while watching in horror as poop slowly rose perilously close to the lip of my toilet bowl like horribly little brown ships on a polluted tide. I’m pretty sure I must have brain damage, because despite the fact I have lamented on occasions just like this the fact we don’t have a plunger, once the danger has passed I am immediately afflicted by plunger-purchasing-amnesia. I’m no world-class pooper or anything, it just so happens that a few times a year something frigs up and the toilet suddenly reverses its only job, which is to make waste go away.
I can tell you here and now that there is no object quite as useful as a plunger when you need it. It’s not even as if you can rig some kind of MacGuyverian stand-in to work as a plunger; there is no object or combination of objects that will do. Well, I suppose you could use the hose attachment of your vacuum, but that plan seems to have three or four severe flaws, not the least of which is the horrors of accelerating feces to hurricane speeds. What’s the other option? Straighten a hanger and just sort of jab at the fibrous mass of impacted TP until it is sufficiently aerated to give way? The mind recoils in terror. A non-brain damaged person would probably get in their car and aim it toward the nearest hardware store, I guess. But not your intrepid, neighborhood reporter, ladies and gentlemen! I would have none of that malarkey. I opted for the method kids have been using to get out of doing dishes since time out of mind – the soak. I let time and water work its erosive magic until the paper fell apart and was whisked away. Thankfully, this happened automatically, because with the water level a scant 2 millimeters from the rim there was no way I was going to test the situation by flushing again. All was well by the next morning. But can I count on being so lucky next time? Images of poo logs melting all over my bathroom floor like decaying goldfish rise in the mind.
That reminds me…I need to buy a plunger.
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