Here are some unrelated details to the terrible toilet tale which I am about to tell. Unrelated, though by far, much more significant than the tale itself. My Mom and Dad decided to come and visit us from far away by train. They arrived in the middle of the night. I made a very special and delicious meal based on Dr. Toast's advice (an Emergency Room MD). Oh it was incredible! I had found a squash the size of Texas with a "take me home" note on it in the cafeteria. I stuffed it with venison, sausage, brown rice, wine, sauteed carrot, onion, celery, toasted pecans (note : the toasted pine nuts burnt to a crisp and I had to improvise), oregano, pepper and butter. Oh it was soooo delicious! Now I will relate to you a most unappetizing tale.
Just hours before, my parents had rendevoused at my sister Heather's home with my aunt, her girlfriend and their 3 adopted daughters from India (now teenagers). It was a wonderful visit, but not without a terrible calamity. In case you don't know my sister, Heather, here is her blog. Heather is everything that I am not. Heather is well organized and clean. She once wiped all of my furniture down with a vinegar solution while visiting. She has also been known to clean my bathroom. At any given moment, she knows where everything in her house is (or at least this illusion lives in my mind). Heather is the ultimate mother. She makes her girls pretty clothes, sews fluff on their socks and has organized food and nap times. She is the kind of mom who tracks how many servings of which food groups her children have consumed in any given day. She may even track their toilet habits in a potty journal, though this rumor most likely only exists in my imagination alone.
Last Christmas, I visited her in her beautiful basement apartment on the outside of a far away city. She had gotten the girls a bowl of goldfish. They were perfectly colored and symmetrical. The aquarium plants were evenly spaced apart and the gravel was color coordinated to the rest of the landscape. I couldn't take it! I had to disrupt this chaos with a poop fish. You can read about that and about her terrible toilet troubles (part one) here, entitled "Toilet Fixation At My Sister Heathers.
Apparently, in the spirit of toilet torment, her haunted septic system again struck. I say haunted, because that is where the poop fish eventually was laid to rest. She claims the death came from natural causes, but I continue to suspect foul play. That, however, is another story of itself. At any rate, my Sister Heather's husband is a college student. Supposedly, he goes to college and works full time, but I know better. I suspect he is a secret ninja. I suspect this because I have an overactive imagination. Heather has a strange closet in her basement apartment with an alarm panel. At certain times, a light flashes and an alarm sounds loudly. It supposedly has to do with the septic system, though we all know better, don't we? Some times strange men frequent this closet supposedly "fixing the problem". My imagination says they, too are secret ninjas meeting in an ultra secret location to plan their next mission. They have to fake a toilet emergency each time they converge.
True to this front, the toilet alarm went off many times during the time my sister Heather had all that company. The landlord, Billy Bob, checked it out, but dismissed it as nothing. He told her to ignore it and so she did. She had a special time planned with her company. She made lovely snacks. She added all the special touches she usually adds to anything she plans. Her biggest concern up until the time of the toilet travesty was making sure her floor was mopped.
Not long after my mom and dad headed for the train station, the alarm sounded. Suddenly strange bubbling sounds came out of all the drains. The toilet began filling up. This was clearly an act of the poopfish taking revenge from his watery grave. Heathers little girls huddled together in fear. Her company looked slightly alarmed. She put on a "this happens all the time, don't worry about a thing" fake smile. Hurriedly she called her landlord (who happens to live upstairs). Being the shrewd and frugal man that he is he tried to talk her into not letting any of the company use the bathroom in exchange for a discount on her rent. He didn't want to pay the emergency plumber $120/hr fee. Graciously, he offered to have his brother, Lester and Himself fix it in the morning. Heather told him to forget it. She currently had 9 people there at the time. That many people driving to the Qwik Trip at 12am was just not going to happen. Reluctantly, Billy Bob agreed to find a plumber. Supposedly, no emergency plumber in the city was available and so Lester and Billy Bob showed up.
Something terrible happened. No sooner had the reluctant men disappeared into the secret ninja closet of doom, but horrible screams began to be emitted. Septic water from the holding tank under pressure shot out in torrents. It ran down the hall, through the wall and baseboards and even flooded into the girls room puddling under little 2 year old Sofia's big girl bed. Apparently, in order to view the pump, they had to open the holding tank. My sister, who never lies, even said that Billy Bob was splattered with the fowl substance. His brother was not so lucky. He happened to have his face in the direct line of fire. The chunk that was plugging the system shot straight out and hit him in the face, getting the solid particulate matter in his mouth! She heard tortured screams "make it stop make it stop" then silence.
All the while, she tried to act nonchalant, sipping tea and chatting with her horrified visitors. By the time the men had left, her "every thing is ok" cover was blown wide open. The smell of putrified feces flooded the flooded apartment. Her aunt set to helping her clean. She found herself in a mortified state of shock. To make matters worse, nobody was hungry for her planned snack that evening.
The next day, Heather discovered that she was still living the nightmare. Only this time, her company was leaving. She had no car with which to escape. She ran after them screaming "help! help! don't leave me in my time of trouble!" but they only laughed fiendishly and drove away. Actually, they just left because it was time to go. Men from Service Master had sprayed heinous odor covering solution all over and nobody could breathe. The fumes were unbearable. She and her small children were eventually rescued by left over 911 workers returning from a natural disaster in Oogleria. Really, her friend came and got them. Conveniently, her husband (ahem ninja) was gone "at college", but we know better, don't we?