There is really something quite special about coming home after a long day at work to a clogged, stinking toilet... yes indeed, folks, in my excitement to get my science tests and math assignments marked, and clear some of the other languishing items off my to-do list at work, I left the house at my usual 6:45 am this morning and promptly forgot about our not-so-little problem in the washroom at home. (In the panic of the moment, I had relegated "call building super" to some non-existent "to do later" list in my mind, and then never did it later.)
The issue, you see, is that for some reason, we don't seem to have a plunger in the apartment.
It's an odd thing, really... everyone ought to have such a tool, just in case, and I feel quite certain that in fact we had one at some point... but like so many little household niceties over the past year, our plunger seems to be in that nebulous "packed-up-when-we-left-for-Argentina-in-September-2013-and-never-found-upon-our-return-in-May-2014" pile somewhere.
Despite said hardship, however, and the skype-shared skepticism of my girlfriend, for whom I described in disgustingly accurate graphic detail the gravity of the situation, I am happy to report that I have successfully solved the problem.
With a little help from Uncle Google.
Behold:
The issue, you see, is that for some reason, we don't seem to have a plunger in the apartment.
It's an odd thing, really... everyone ought to have such a tool, just in case, and I feel quite certain that in fact we had one at some point... but like so many little household niceties over the past year, our plunger seems to be in that nebulous "packed-up-when-we-left-for-Argentina-in-September-2013-and-never-found-upon-our-return-in-May-2014" pile somewhere.
Despite said hardship, however, and the skype-shared skepticism of my girlfriend, for whom I described in disgustingly accurate graphic detail the gravity of the situation, I am happy to report that I have successfully solved the problem.
With a little help from Uncle Google.
Behold:
Ms. Teschow's post-trauma toilet, recovering nicely. Assorted "tools" nearby.
You see, knocking on people's doors at 11 p.m. is not really the sort of thing one does in my building, even to desperately inquire about a plunger. But as it turns out, a little (well, a lot, truth be told) of baby shampoo and a big pot of hot water does the job. Especially if one scoops out considerable amounts of preexisting clogged-toilet water and rummages around the clogged toilet with a coat hanger beforehand. (Yes, eewwww, but so very necessary in this case, I'm afraid.)
I would make one addendum to the advice provided online for such situations, and that is this: Upon successful completion of the job, do take care to either dispose of whatever tools you used to assist you in your endeavor, or spend considerable time washing same with dish soap and very hot or boiling water, lest your shitty (sorry, but come on, people, how could I not?!) evening turn into a week-long bacterial infection of mammoth proportions!
I would make one addendum to the advice provided online for such situations, and that is this: Upon successful completion of the job, do take care to either dispose of whatever tools you used to assist you in your endeavor, or spend considerable time washing same with dish soap and very hot or boiling water, lest your shitty (sorry, but come on, people, how could I not?!) evening turn into a week-long bacterial infection of mammoth proportions!
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