i received no answer, though i'm positive the question was heard. perhaps because the question was less of a question and more of passive-aggressive way of suggesting s'mores not be put on my books.
finding my poop-reference books covered in chocolate was less hilarious than one would expect and it was not the reason i'd gone into the bathroom. i needed to poop and i needed to shower. after yesterday's heat and today's promised sauna, i knew a shower would be in immediate order.
i grabbed a changed of clothes and made my way back to the bathroom in time for someone to knock on our front door.
nobody knocks on doors. it's always a little scary when someone does. my mind immediately just screams "cops" because in the year 2010 we use cell phones to let you know we're outside.
"i wanted to give you a heads-up," he began, "something is wrong with the plumbing and every time anyone on our side of the building flushes their toilet it overflows mine with dirty toilet-water. a plumber is probably going to stop by your apartment and the people above us, but i figured i should tell you."
"oh," i said while thinking about mornings and how immediate poop must exit my body, "can we still shower, though?"
"i don't think so," he said, "the plumber said to at least wait till he checks it out. sorry man, but i'm literally down there cleaning up shit-- literal shit-- that keeps being pumped into my bathroom."
well, i guess i will not be pooping or showering after all.
i promised him i would hold off on all water-related activities until the plumber came by while wishing i hated him more. i really had to poop and if i didn't know my poop would be delivered to his bathroom, or if we just hated each other, i would've had no problem doing it. but, unfortunately, this neighbor has always been a really great guy.
who needs to take a shower, or use water when it's only 94 fucking degrees outside?
the ten minute walk to crave cafe was hardly bearable-- but it came with a promise of free iced espresso and a pubic restroom. even in the shade the world felt like the inside of a black car that'd been parked in a desert during the heat of the day. leather fucking interior and all.
i tried to smoke a cigarette and gave up.
iced espresso, iced espresso, public restroom. you can do it.
look, i don't deal well with the sun. i never have. and i don't deal well with anything when i haven't had caffeine. but i made it to crave and told travis about the apartment situation. he gave me an iced americano and thing of lemonade before i had to head back to be sure someone was home when the plumber came.
i'm not exactly sure how it happened, but when i got home i realized i didn't actually poop at crave and the need was growing exponentially greater every step i took. coffee has a way of silencing those sort of issues and then reminding you out of nowhere and with a sort of super-human urgency.
this next part was a judgment call and believe me i did a lot of thinking.
i pooped in my toilet, but didn't flush it.
here was my reasoning:
2. i promised my neighbor i wouldn't flush.
3. my roommates were both at work and wouldn't know.
4. the plumber has probably seen worse.
considering the situation, i'd like to believe i made the best decision i could've with a bubbly coffee-caused emergency brewing inside. i dropped the toilet lid and shut the door to find carmen the cat staring at me. she meowed a disapproving meow and i told her to shut her furry mouth about it all-- at least i didn't use her litter box, and at least my poop doesn't cause schizophrenia.
and then it all got worse.
i saw a tiny drop of red hit my shoe. i was worried about this. this is exactly why i hate the sun.
when i was a kid, this would happen all the time. it hardly happens nowadays, but when it does, it certainly makes up for the times it didn't. it's something to do with high temperatures and the closeness of my veins to the surface of my skin-- something to do with the swelling of veins that i've never understood-- but sometimes when it's very hot, my nose starts bleeding like crazy.
and when my nose bleeds, it doesn't joke around about it. it used to go for hours. i remember being a kid and trying every single trick to speed the process up a bit: ice-pack on the back of the neck, putting a piece of cardboard under my upper lip to cut off the artery, etc. the whole "tilt your head back" bit is amateur speak, by the way, all that does is increase your chance of choking on the blood-clot and vomiting. and yes, that's happened, too.
anyway, i rushed back into the bathroom and threw open the toilet. oh, hello, poop. i had no choice but to use the toilet because it was going to take quite a while to stop bleeding and quite a few rolls of charmin ultra-soft. and i suppose if i had to look at someone's poop while i bled out of my face, it may as well be my own poop.
this is why i hate the sun.
fortunately, the bleeding-game only lasted ten minutes, which was a nice surprise. the trick is finding the blood-clot as soon as you possibly can. once you pull that carnage out, the blood will stop shortly after. my hope is that i will eventually completely outgrow the adventures of bleeding when it gets hot-- at the very least, it's not the best way to look cool.
and then came the second knock of the day. this time it was the plumber.
oh, this is going to look great.
"yeah," i said, "my neighbor told me you'd be by."
there was a pretty long pause during which i think i was meant to invite the man inside, but i was spending that silence debating about the best way of warning him about my toilet.
"yeah."
i started quickly re-debating my list (4. the plumber has probably seen worse.) and watched him find my bathroom quickly. he opened the door, sort of eyed the room and then opened the tank of the toilet. he looked behind the tank and then closed it back up.
and then he opened the lid. and froze. the bowl was filled with the worst mixture of bloody toilet paper and fresh mud that could only be caused by a night of hard drinking and a morning of caffeine. i felt like such a jerk watching the plumber stare at the mess.
"my nose was bleeding," i said hoping to at least help him understand where the blood came from, "because it was hot. and my neighbor said not to flush the toilet till you got here."
"this is bullshit, man."
"i know," i said, "i'm really sorry. but i couldn't control any of that. i'm seriously really sorry. if it counts for anything, the stuff on the lid is melted chocolate. my roommate brought s'mores in here."
"great. thank you."
"do you want a beer?" i asked, hoping it might at least prove i hadn't planned on making his day so horrible.
"no," he said firmly, "i'll be back. i have to get the machine from downstairs."
for the record, he never did come back.
UPDATE: according to my neighbor, the issue has been resolved. the reason his toilet was overflowing with other tenants' poop is because the pipe below his room had been clogged and each flush above it sent poopy-waters to the clog at which point those waters grew confused and went to the next possible place: the toilet on the first floor; his toilet.
in short, my toilet had nothing to do with the situation and the plumber technically never had a reason to see it or be offended by it.
and for the record, my neighbor was asked to clean all the poop-water up himself-- the plumber, management, and other people who kindly accept our checks each month refused to help. in that way, i'm sort of glad the plumber saw my bloody poop.
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