Thursday, July 11, 2013

Brian the Plumber.

The other day I was sitting around at work picking my nose, hand picking Russian mail order brides off the internet, and occasionally working. I was doing this all in sock feet by the way, because shoes are jerks.

Anyway, as I was doing all these semi-important things, an angry looking woman walks down the stairs into our offices, stares at me suspiciously, enters our bathroom, and proceeds to take what must have been a painful, complicated dookie, because she was in there for about 20 minutes, and when she came out she was sweating and her hair looked like Nick Nolte's mugshot. She then eyed me suspiciously again, ran her hands through her hair, and walked back up the stairs. This surprised me, because as far as I know, our restroom is not open to the public.

After verifying with the mortgage guy who offices with us that she was not a client of his, I began to get concerned that homeless people had found our bathroom and were now going to try to live in there, and I have shy kidneys so it wouldn't be practical. While I was thinking about where else I could pee from now on, I heard a loud dripping noise coming from the bathroom recently vacated by the woman of unknown origin. When I walked in to check it out I saw that there was a fairly heavy stream of yellowish water cascading down from the ceiling vent onto the floor, like a uriney waterfall. This was not normal, so I stood there and scratched my head, to at least give the impression that I was trying to figure out what was going on. I decided to walk upstairs to see if I could find the source.

Our upstairs tenants are a bunch of counselors, and from what I could tell they were all in session because al of their respective doors were closed. Strangely, the bathroom was also closed. I knew this because someone had taped a rudimentary sign to the door which said, "Closed". I knocked on the door to make sure some counselor was counseling a weirdo about how to urinate efficiently or something. When I was sure there was nobody in there, I opened the door. What I saw was not promising, and by not promising I mean the toilet was overflowing all over the floor and there was standing pee-water everywhere. I was pleased that I had located the source, but also irritated that somebody would plug the toilet, and not have the common decency to plunge it before a flood happened, especially considering there was a plunger located 3 inches away from the toilet. Instead, they thought the best recourse would be to shut the door and pretend it didn't exist. So I sloshed over (in socks mind you) and shut off the toilet valve, and then I ran back downstairs to see if this would slow the waterfall, which it did. So then I went back upstairs.

When I got back up, I noticed the door was shut again, which was weird because I hadn't shut it. I knocked again, and an elderly voice said, "I'm in here! I'm using the bathroom even though it says closed. You may need to plunge!" I said, "What the fuck are you doing using a broken potty you dumb old idiot. Get out of there now before I strangle you with your own Depends!!" Actually I only thought that, what I said was "OK." So I go stand in the lobby and pretend to read mail, because this is all making me uncomfortable. After a couple minutes, she shuffles out and says, "Hello? Maintenance?" I assume she means me. I step around the corner, staring at her critically. She is at least 140 years old, is using a walker with tennis balls on the bottom, and is wearing a fur coat, complete with stole, even though it is like 92 degrees and humid outside. She looks at me and reiterates, "You're going to need to plunge." I kill her, throw her in the woods, and pawn her fur coat for crack (OK not true).

I walk back in to the bathroom and am overcome with an odor of dead skunks, parfum de couer, and metamucil, with a little pestilence mixed in for good measures. This decaying old woman has pooped in the broken toilet. This complicates things. I am now forced to plunge not only water and urine, but also the semi-solid droppings of an octogenarian's mom. I am not pleased. I flush the toilet and begin plunging. I am not pleased. A giant hunk of toilet paper pops out. Not pleased. Poopy wizz water splashes on my arm. Not pleased. The water all goes down after about six plunges. Really not pleased. I spend 15 minutes sopping up the water on the floor. I am wet. This is bad.

As it turns out our bathroom ceiling has a little discoloration on it
 but nothing major so that's fortunate. But Good Lord, if you're going to flood the toilet, fix it, and please don't crap in it even if you are extremely old and wearing fur. Yuck!