A Tale of Two Toilets

This is me, only with boobs and a lot more profanity.

This is me, only with boobs and a lot more profanity.

It was the worst of times, it was the worst of times.  Sorry Dickens, there is no “best” in this story.  It’s just bad times, badder times, and worst times.

“The toilet’s clogged,” my 10 year old told me. He’d been using the master bathroom because my eldest was taking a shower in the other one.

“Did you poop?” I asked, because with three boys in my house nothing is TMI.

“No, I just peed.”

Huh. My toilet is one of those ‘can flush a small Hyundai’ toilets that seldom clogs. The one in the kid’s bathroom seems to clog on a daily basis. I’d always blamed it on having three boys, and made sure the plunger and a coat hanger were strategically placed nearby. But my toilet?

“I’ll plunge it once Nick is out of the shower,” I told him since we only have one plunger.

The shower stopped. I heard a toilet flush, then the plaintive cry of “mom!’ that every mother is familiar with.

The toilet in the hall bathroom was leaking out the bottom. I grabbed a stack of Old Towels (the ones used to dry wet dogs and other scenarios) and shut the water off to the toilet, sending my eldest downstairs to put a bucket under the inevitable drip coming from where the septic pipe connects.

Huh again. Wax ring? I just replaced that wax ring last month.

Vowing to deal with it later, I grabbed the plunger and headed back to my bathroom. The water was up to the rim. I plunged a few times, perplexed because nothing seemed to be ‘stuck’. Then I flushed.

A waterfall commenced. A waterfall, I tell you.  Now I’m screaming for towels and a bucket. Yelling at the top of my lungs. “I need some f$%#ing help in here!”

My eldest had left for work. My 7 year old promptly sat on the couch and covered his ears because he doesn’t like it when people use bad words. I don’t understand how he isn’t desensitized to it at this point between his dad and I, but that’s him.

My 10 year old sprang into action, bringing towels. He couldn’t find a bucket, so instead he brought me a dog dish to bail with. (Sorry Buckwheat.)

Something catastrophic had clearly happened to my septic system, or at least the toilet part of it.  I have the plumbers on speed dial because they’ve been out TWICE this month for unrelated things, and called them while driving the kids to school.

“If the plumbers can’t make it out, we’ll need to poop in a bucket,” I told the kids.  They thought this was hysterical because they’re boys.  In fact my 7 year old was quite excited at the prospect, declaring that we’d be like ‘Old Timey People’ pooping in buckets.

The plumbing company dispatch person, who I’m sure needed the same training as a 911 operator, calmly asked me what my schedule was for the day.

“Well, I’ve got a hair appointment at 1:00, but toilets trump getting my roots touched up.”

So here I sit. Waiting for the plumber who has promised to squeeze me in sometime today. I just hope I don’t need to poop in the meantime.

UPDATE: The tank isn’t draining into the field and is full (I had it pumped 2 years ago, so it shouldn’t be full). They are returning either tomorrow or Monday to dig it all up and either remove the blockage or fix it. We are on septic lockdown until it’s fixed.
What a crappy month. (rimshot)


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