Two things separate us from the animal kingdom. The first is, of course, our creative ways of killing each other and the other is indoor plumbing. Cats bury, monkeys throw, dogs sniff and nibble -- we flush. At least most of us do. My sister, on occasion would carry on a phone conversation on the shitter and not flush, lest her friend realize she was backing one out. (What the hell is the mute button for, anyway?) Of course she'd never remember to go back and flush, leaving wholesome goodness floating for the next. AAAAARghhh.
Anyway, John, an acquaintance of mine, is a plumber. Somehow he got into shop talk with us at my friend's daughter's birthday party. He recently went on a job deemed 'urgent' by the client. Apparently the gentlemen's toilet wasn't working for the past three weeks.
John flipped the lid to find a substantial amount of human waste. "Why didn't you call us sooner?" asked John.
Chances are the man wasn't prepared to pay for the services. John got started with the task and found it daunting. He started moving things around to give himself some working room and started to move one of those picnic coolers, opening the lid to see if it was empty. Unfortunately, it wasn't. It was filled to the rim with excrement. Apparently, when the toilet bowl was full, Mr. Shitpants would scoop out the a few layers and dump it into the cooler.
Immediately upon hearing this, it alternately made my Top Ten lists for Hilarity and Repulsion.
Now we've all had some degree of toilet problems, and as intelligent beings, we resolve them as quickly as possible (like when I plugged up my wife's friend's toilet last summer - and she went in there to unplug it before her friend noticed). This guy waited three weeks. Twenty-one days of pissing and shitting amounts to a heck of a lot of waste.
"I would have left," I told him. "Did you leave?"
"If I don't do the job I don't get paid," he replied.
So then, my friend John was left to toil with gallons full of this fat, stupid f*ck's digested Cheez-its and Cokes. Being poor sucks, no doubt, but at what point does the common-sense valve cease to function? Does it deteriorate along with self-esteem or with abandoned hope? In either case, I would like to offer to this 300 pound shitting machine with a minimal capacity for resourcefulness several solutions which might avert a repeat of his vile offense:
- Shit at a friend's house. If you are friendless, try a fast-food restaurant. Customer's only? Scrounge up 78 cents from the couch, head over to said restaurant, get the small fries and a water. Set the tray on a table before you mosey over to the bathroom to drop anchor.
- Shit in the woods. Rummage through your neigbor's garbage can for yesterday's newspaper for wiping material. Walk to the edge of town and find a big bush to squat behind. Find the Ms. Manners column and wipe away the residue.
- Adult diapers. This might require some shoplifting, but there's more dignity in that than there is in the stunt you pulled off. Piss and shit yourself in comfort without having to wait for the commercial break on Springer.
- Do it yourself colostomy kit. There's no nerve supply to that region, so you won't feel a thing beyond the initial incision. All you need is a sharp pair of pinking shears, duct tape and bags from your local convenience store.
- Churches are pretty welcoming. I doubt there's a clergyman out there who'd turn a defecating Christian.
- Go to the zoo, find the wussiest animal's cage and inhabit it. Grab a marker to cross out the word 'weasel', and write your name above it. Take off your clothes and run around shitting at your leisure. The zoo keepers won't catch on for a few days.
- Your local pub is a great place to shit. Go on one of those whacky collegiate party nights with the 25 cent drafts. Those loosen you up a bit, both personality-wise and bowel-wise.
- Supermarkets have bathrooms, too. I know ordinarily you make a beeline for the heavily salted snacks, but they're generally near the entrance and they don't give a shit if you shit.
- Portapotties can be found near construction sites and in some public parks. Sure, they're a little stinky, but again, it can't be any worse than the shit-farm you grew at home.
- Second run movie theatres only cost $1.50. Go see any shitty J-Lo or Sandra Bullock bomb, and slip off to seclusion during the previews.
I can only hope that he take heed.