Possumblog

Nothing says Christmas like stopped up plumbing.

Else, why would it have figured so greatly in my vacation?

Christmas Eve afternoon, we left Reba's mom and dad's house (after a giant lunch) to run over to my mom's house to visit with her and my sister to swap pleasantries and gift cards. As is the usual case, we wound up in the kitchen while the children pestered each other in the rest of the house. Nice chat, caught up on stuff, and it got to be time to head back toward home. But first, a certain Tiny Girl had to make use of the indoor outhouse.

Wait. Wait. Chat some more. Wait.

Finally, she emerged from the small powder room looking a bit downcast. Mainly because through the clever usage of giant wads of toilet paper, she had managed to keep the porcelain convenience from properly flushing. Which really isn't that big of a deal, except in this case, she had gifted her grandmother with a giant Yule log, which floated serenely in the bowl.

Merry Christmas!

::sigh::

I figured maybe another pull on the flush lever would get things moving, but I succeeded only in moving the water level to the very edge of the rim of the bowl. I prevented an overflow only by the quickest of action to turn off the supply line, which also had the happy side consequence of bringing me that much closer to the chunky deposit Tiny Terror had made.

"Where's your plunger, Mama?"

"I don't have one, Terry--it's just me here."

Quite right--I should have realized that not everyone is as as blessed as I, being outfitted in a home with both low-water-consumption crappers and four girls, who seem to be able to use an entire roll of toilet paper at each sitting, with predictable results. I.e., me, with a force cup, freeing up the passageways.

But, now, what to do--we couldn't very well leave my mother with a pot full of water and the aforementioned Christmas treasure, so it was decided that I would sally forth to the Lowe's hardware store at the bottom of the hill, purchase a plumber's helper, and return to unclog the clog. Which is just what anyone would want to do on Christmas Eve.

Just as we were about to leave, though, there was a sudden chuggling gurgle, and the poop disappeared with a sigh down the hole. IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE! Laughter and shouts of acclamation and relief filled the holiday air, which was now much more breathable, by the way.

Home then, and all that other stuff.

Fast forward now to Wednesday, December 28, and go with us to church for Wednesday Bible study. For once, we managed to get to the building early, and I set in to make sure all the curriculum was ready for the new quarter, which was scheduled to start January 1. I fidgeted and fussed and fixed and did and was in a tizzy, when suddenly I found Rebecca at my arm.

"Daddy?"

"Hmyeah, what, sugar? Daddy's kinda--uhmmm--Daddy's busy, baby--what do you need?"

"Well, I was wondering--I just walked by the women's bathroom, and it sounded like water running, and I went in there, and one of the toilets was running."

"Jiggle the handle, Bec--wait--is it STILL running?"

"Yes, sir."

'IS IT RUNNING IN THE FLOOR?!"

"I think so--it looked wet when I looked in the door."

I dropped my stuff and went running around to the other hallway, and sure enough, a perfect storm--someone had clogged up the pot, AND the tank hadn't stopped running. By this time, the floodwaters had reached beyond the tile part of the floor and were slowly making their way to the carpeted vestibule.

I tippy-toed over to the offending fixture and shut the water off. What a mess. Although, in retrospect, not nearly so much of a mess as it could have been, seeing as how there were no solids to contend with, and the water wasn't yellow-tinged.

I searched in vain for the plunger, then ran around to the men's bathroom to get that one, ran back around and unblocked the blockage, then gratefully accepted a mop from someone and we started mopping and wringing. Various passersby noted that there sure was a lot of water in the floor. Smart people.

At some point in there, someone else remembered we had a tiny wet-dry vacuum, which was fetched and plugged in. It was a two-gallon model, meaning it would operate for approximately 30 seconds before shutting down because it was full. Must have dumped it out fifteen times, which would be 30 gallons. That, my friends, is a lot of water. I lost my fellowmopper when services started, and the other guy decided to go home and get his great big wet-dry vac. It was not needed by the time he got back. I think he might have planned it that way.

As it was, I managed to get through about halfway through services. I realize it's probably not up there with washing feet like some folks do, but I figure it's close enough.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at January 3, 2006 09:43 AM