A toilet redeemed

The day I started my new gig nearly a couple of weeks ago, my usual early afternoon rumbling set in. I knew it was time to drop a couple of long-stemmed jonny cakes onto the porcelain griddle. I did my sinful bid-nass, ran a few layers of 2-ply against the corn chute, and immediately realized I hadn't yet tested the flushing force of this particular toilet.

When using an unfamiliar commode, I often do a test flush before wiping to make sure it is capable of handling my prolific intestinal squeezings. If not, usually a couple of extra flushes will eventually knock things loose. But add paper to the mix, and the whole thing is a crap shoot. Pun intended, fuckers. Nothing is worse than plugging up a toilet in an office or public place (aside from having the liquishits in an office or public place). They almost NEVER leave a plunger out for the public for those embarrassing situations. But perhaps I'm the only person who has plugged a toilet in almost every state he's stepped foot in (I'm still banned from all Holiday Inn Express hotels in Florida and Georgia).

Knowing that my oversight could be a costly mistake, I pressed the handle with trepidation. My fears were soon realized with the sound of a pathetic gurgle. Perhaps a quarter of my leavings and wipings made it down before becoming solidly lodged in an immovable mass. My heart sank into my stomach, and an old familiar panic washed over me. I'd done it again. Or had I? I let the tank fill again and pressed the lever, this time with more force and for a longer duration. The toilet WHOOSHED to life, sucking down light, time, and space into it's unforgiving, swirling maw.

I would have instinctively stepped back in my startled state, but the force of the flush drew me forward and threw me off my feet. I frantically grabbed at whatever I could--the door handle, the toilet paper dispenser, the rim of the toilet itself. But gravity plays no favorites. Without a moment to spare, the last drop of water drained from the tank, and the air became still. My watch was gone, and I was missing a contact lense, but I was alive. Praise Jesus, I was alive. I lept to my feet, straightened my hair, smoothed my rumpled shirt, and returned to my desk. Yes, this toilet will do nicely. Quite nicely.