The (at least) 24 hour Curse of the Toilet: In an era where they can flush themselves, why hasn’t anyone invented an Overflow Alarm or an Emergency Stop Button?
I was trying to determine the perfect “what the frak…?” topic today, when one literally flooded into my lap.
Well almost. It was actually my sparkly clean bathroom floor.
Let me back up a bit (pun totally unintended and only discovered upon proof reading).
Last night as I walked upstairs to wake up Lil Diva from an uncharacteristically long nap, I noticed the upstairs bathroom light was on. As I reached for the switch, I discovered The Tackler hadn’t fully flushed the toilet earlier – a small amount of toilet paper remained. So I did the natural thing. I pushed the lever to flush it again.
Instead of going down like it was supposed to, the water began rising in that taunting “Say good-bye to your clean bathroom floor!” way. Desperate to stop it, I removed the toilet lid to raise the bulb mechanism as I have done so many times in my life.
The bulb and the bar it was attached to snapped off.
It snapped the frak off.
Cursing the plumbing industry for not developing indestructible workings of a toilet – how hard can it be to develop something actually water proof for a part that spends its entire working life under water – I was forced to grab the screw that previously attached the bulb’s bar to the main part of the tank.
It dug into my thumb quite painfully.
By this point the water was high enough that if I released the screw my toilet would be transformed into Niagra Falls.
Which meant I could not reach the Shut Off Valve.
Where the frak was the Emergency Stop Button? The one labeled “Never Use Except In This Precise Scenario?”
Long story short, luckily I had heard Computer God arriving home – and after much repeated yelling as my thumb was about to give out – he was able to rescue me by turning off the water valve.
A trip to Lowe’s – some internal toilet surgery involving replacing everything – and all was well before my nocturnal Lil Diva finally went to sleep last night.
Or so I thought.
Fast forward to this morning.
Lil Diva nailed her pillow pet with the remnants of her banana snack – because after seeming to mostly outgrow the regurgitation issues she’d had since about two months old, it came back with a vengeance when my house turned Twilight. It was nasty, my mother in law was over playing with The Tackler, so I figured I’d take five minutes to toss in a load of laundry.
As I walked down the stairs I heard happy squeals echoing in such a way I was certain Lil Diva had found a cave hidden in my house and had gone spelunking.
Instead of finding a cave and her finger painting with bat guano, I discovered her in the downstairs bathroom – where the door had been left open again – with half of the roll of toilet paper in a giant mountain on the floor. The other half was inside the toilet.
I quickly took her away from it, flushed the latter half away, and placed the “good” half on the back of the toilet.
Ten seconds later I wished I’d taken a photo of the mess first.
As I lamented losing a perfect photo op, I failed to verify the flushed evidence had successfully been disposed of.
It’s like a comedy of errors that is so predictable you see the ending coming a mile away. Unless you’re living it.
A few hours later Lil Diva went down for a nap, and The Tackler was off playing Buzz Lightyear. I plopped onto the couch, reclined, grabbed my laptop, and prepared to finally write “what the frak…?” for today. I wasn’t too thrilled about the topic and the writing wasn’t really…… flowing (pun completely intended this time).
Ahh, the irony.
In the background of my writing bubble, I heard The Tackler dash for the bathroom. He prefers privacy so I waited for paging if my services were required.
I recall thinking, “The water sounds a lot louder than normal, but he does like to run it full blast. How long does he need to wash his hands anyway?”
Then The Tackler was before me, naked from the waist down. Not an uncommon occurrence. Then I saw his face.
The lips were turned down and his eyes near tears as he sobbed, “There’s lots of water all over the floor. My pants are all wet.”
The morning’s earlier events fast forwarded through my brain as the reality of what had happened hit me.
I was still unprepared for the sheer volume of water that coated the floor – as though The Tackler had attempted flushing not once, but multiple times.
All over my clean, Twilight vampire sparkling floors.
It even leaked through the wall into the garage.
The only good news?
No excrement was involved. Thank God.
I found myself wondering…
Why the frak hasn’t anyone invented a Toilet Alarm – designed to go off when the water raises above a certain level, or when it fails to drain properly?
How many of us could have avoided massive overflows if this simple device existed?
Now I await part three of The Toilet Curse, because everyone knows these things always happen in threes.
Is anyone’s Friday more “eventful” than mine?