girding my loins

I'm about to leave the office. When I do, I'm going to pick up a few items. Among them: a toilet plunger and some Drano (or the local equivalent). My toilet backed up this morning, and given how solid my own crap was before I flushed, I am positive that the cloudy feces I saw in the toilet after that first horrible flush... was not my own.

There may be a problem in the building. I've been shitting into that toilet for two years with no problem; the toilet has faithfully-- even eagerly-- gulped everything I've launched at it. Last night, however, I noticed that our concierge's ground-floor toilet had experienced a backup. Not having put two and two together, I went up to my room, took a pre-sleep dump, and thought no more of the matter. Whatever blockage had occurred last night must have worsened by morning, though, because when I flushed after my morning crap (yes-- a crap before and a crap after sleeping: two craps to bracket the sleeping period like fetid parentheses), I saw something I hadn't seen in years: a rise in water level accompanied by the dark presentiment that something ancient and terrible was about to occur. I heard the old, familiar sound of a toilet gargling instead of swallowing, and just knew: Cthulu approaches.

As with most men who witness toilet blockages, I was riveted by the spectacle of my own (and possibly someone else's) shit rising inexorably toward the toilet bowl's edge. I don't remember this clearly, but I suspect my eyes had widened in tandem with the upwelling of that dark, evil water. Luckily, it didn't spill over the edge, though I did tempt fate by flushing a second time.

Pride dictates that I must solve this problem myself. Allowing the concierge and another repairman into my dorm to behold a shit-filled bowl would be shameful enough to merit seppuku.

I am off, then, to do battle with a porcelain dragon. But first-- my lance and a phial of potion!


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