Flush and Run

I have a very bad habit of throwing Kleenex down the toilet. I don't know why it is so hard for me to use Kleenexes and then throw them into the trash, but I always just instinctively throw them into the toilet, even though I know it's wasteful. Well, the Water Gods just caught up to me, because just now when I threw my Kleenex down the toilet, I also managed to toss my beloved and obsessively-used Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker!! Don't ask. Instead, let me tell you a little story.



The summer before I started high school, Bimpsy and I decided that we wanted to live with Dad and Sonjah. Looking back now that Dad is no longer alive, I am so very, very glad we did that. So we moved from Colorado to Montana. This was back when Dad was a market sales manager for Allstate, so he used to travel a lot, meaning my stepmom Sonjah was stuck with us a lot of the time. This was around the time we started giving her less hell than the previous few years, but we were nonetheless still keeping her guessing.



One Monday when Dad was gone on a trip for the week, Sonjah was yelling for us to get upstairs right away. "Girls, the toilet in my bathroom is clogged. It started overflowing this morning when I flushed it and now we can't use it. Does anyone know how this happened?" We looked at Sonjah blankly. "Uh, no." She just went back to plunging away, hoping that the little rubber cup on a stick would make it all go away. This went on for about two days, with her constantly asking us if we knew anything about it, and Sam and I adamantly denying any involvement. On the third day, she called Dad. Repeat. ON THE THIRD DAY, SHE CALLED DAD. You never, EVER, get Dads who are on business trips involved. NEVER! On the fourth day, Dad wanted to talk to us. We still said we didn't know how it happened. He gave us plenty of chances to change our story, but we stuck to our guns.



Remember that song from Sesame Street that went along with the four kids on the TV screen? "Which of these kids is doin' their own thing? C'mon, can you guess which one?" Yeah, well, I was the kid doin' her own thing. As in, I knew more than I was telling. Sam just stuck to her guns because she truly had no idea what was going on. Me? I was a witness to a crime, and I knew Dad would have me sleeping with the fishes once he found out the truth.



Dad came home two days later, and plunged the life out of that mother lovin' toilet. Nada. Zip. He had a temper you didn't want to flare up, and you most CERTAINLY did not want to lie to him. The only thing Dad hated more in the world than cheaters were liars, and since most times they're one and the same, they were doubly hated. But in this case, there was only a lie. A big, fat, festering, week-long open sore of a lie, and when the bandaid was ripped off, I knew I'd be dead.



That Saturday night, at about two-thirty in the morning, I could see from my bedroom that the light in the living room was on. And since I am like my father in that if I am worried about something, I can't sleep, so I just happened to be awake, too. Worrying about the same thing, but for different reasons. Dad had been messing with the toilet all day, and had mentioned something about having to get a toilet snake on Sunday, and if that didn’t work, he would be tearing the toilet up to see what the, uh, "holdup" was. Well, any fool knows when their time has come. And when your time comes, you suck it up, get out of bed, and do the adult thing.



Cry like a little baby and beg for forgiveness.



"Daddy?" He was sitting in the armchair with the reading light on. No book, no magazine, no nothing. Almost like he was waiting for me. By this time, I'm nearing the point of the hyperventilating hysteria that is slightly more acceptable in a three year old, but only slightly. Keep in mind, this is right before my ninth grade year. Real mature. However, if you weren't sure if you were too old to spank, and you remembered what a "Fiery Wrath of Dad" spanking was, you'd have damn sure been hyperventilating, too.



"Amanda, do you have something to tell me? Is this, by any chance, about why the toilet is clogged?" Dead calm. Eyes lasering right through me. How did he know?

"Ye...ye...yesssssssssssss (wah!!)!" Translation: Ga ga, goo goo. I'm a puss.



The previous Sunday night - let's just sum it up by saying that I had used my parents' bathroom. No need for details there. I stood up, got my pants back in order, and grabbed the Lysol can. Can in hand, I reached with my other hand and flushed the toilet. I fumbled with the cap and finally managed to get it off, only to immediately drop it into the toilet. Before I could react, I watched helplessly as the last swirl of water wooshed the big, gold Lysol cap down the small, black hole, and into the hell that would become my life for a whole week. Uh, oh. Sonjah was on the phone; she didn't notice. I flushed the toilet a couple more times. It was flowing freely as usual, so I thought nothing of it other than that once again, I had lived through another stupid Boonzie moment and no one was the wiser. Oh, such arrogance and sweet, sweet illusion. For that, you must pay.



Dad said nothing. Just sat there looking at me with his hands folded and his pointer fingers propped against each other like a little steeple. Contemplating, probably, what best to do with my body. Realizing then, perhaps, that body parts would definitely NOT be able to be flushed down the toilet. "Okay. Well, thank you for telling me the truth. Why don't you go to bed? Now, stop looking at me like that. I know it took a lot for you to come and tell me the truth. I’m just glad I know what the problem is now so that I can best fix it. Not to worry; it’ll all be taken care of tomorrow. Now give me a hug and off to bed you go.”



I made my way back into my room and slipped under my covers. Holy cow! This whole telling the truth thing actually works! He didn’t even get mad or yell or anything! Man, I should have been doing this a long time ago! I happily fell asleep, knowing the whole sordid incident was behind us. Dad would fix the toilet, and we could forget the whole thing.


The next morning, Dad woke me up bright and early. He said he figured since I was the one who was the cause of the whole fiasco, the least I could do was help him. We climbed into the car and went down to the U-Haul place, which also just so happened to rent toilet snakes. Moving vans and toilet snakes. Makes sense, doesn’t it? We got back home and went upstairs. I was all set to supervise and show my best encouragement. Dad had a nasty job ahead of him. However, he let me “do the honors” of picking up the U-Haul orange toilet snake and jamming the long metal squiggly thing into the toilet. I tried to find that Lysol cap for fifteen minutes, to no avail. Water from the bowl was splashing all over me. Once Dad determined that that wasn’t working, he said we’d have to take the toilet bowl up and get underneath to see if the cap was actually lodged in the plumbing in the floor, in which case we both knew that the whole me-not-getting-in-trouble thing would be out the door. Lucky me, he again let me do the work. I had to lie down on the floor next to the toilet and work off the screws that were holding the toilet down to its spot. Lying in the toilet water that had splashed on the floor, it was suddenly coming to me that Dad letting me do the honors was really not so honorable. He knew what he was doing. It took me forever to get the screws off, mainly because I’m a huge wimp. Dad did step in and pick the toilet up, turning it on its side so we could see.


Crap. Literally. Crap freakin’ EVERYWHERE. If you ever take a toilet up, you will find out that there are all sorts of nooks and crannies for human waste to hide. And believe me, those nooks and crannies were FULL. It was all I could do not to barf all over my self. Dad handed me the toilet snake and I again set to work, trying very hard not to cry. It clanged around in the bowl, and then hit something. Clanged around some more and POP! Out from the bowl of the toilet flew the Lysol cap! Woo Hoo! I smiled triumphantly at Dad, and he of course informed me how lucky I was that it wasn’t much worse. Covered in toilet water and other unmentionable substances, I didn’t see how it could have gotten worse, but I decided to take Dad’s word for it. He thanked me for my help and told me to go downstairs and clean up. I hopped into the shower and washed off all remnants of the whole, horrible thing.


About half an hour later, Dad came down and made sure I was all cleaned up. Yep. “Good. I’ve got a surprise for you outside.” Man! Now I’m even getting rewarded for telling the truth! This is awesome! I happily followed him outside to see what my reward was. There, in the middle of the front lawn, was the toilet. Covered in poop, in all its glory for the whole neighborhood to see. Next to it was the hose, some towels, and a bottle full of Windex.

Dad turned to me. “Oh, I’m sorry! You didn’t think you got away with it, did you? You know how I feel about lying, don’t you? I said I’m not mad, and I’m not - anymore. Now, I want to see my reflection gleaming in that thing, and then it’ll all be over. Call me when you’re done.” He slapped a bucket of soapy water and a sponge in my hands, and headed toward the house. “Hey!”, he turned to me. “Isn’t this about the time that our neighbors leave for church? And, wait, isn’t that the cross-country team coming up the road? Have fun!” He was laughing as he went in the house, and I could see my sister and my step mom laughing from the kitchen window. I knelt helplessly in the grass, staring at the toilet and feeling extremely sorry for myself. My neighbors came and went, staring and smiling. The cross-country team went by, on one of their daily runs that they did before school started in the fall. I heard some snickers, some giggles, and some outright laughing as I had my arm shoulder-deep in the toilet with the soapy sponge. They ran back by again later, just in time to see me shining the toilet up with Windex after I had just hosed the whole thing down. I called Dad. “I’m all done.” He walked over, inspected it, turned it right-side up, inspected it some more, and then SAT DOWN. On the toilet, in the front yard. Before he carried it back into the house , he asked me to tell him what I learned from the whole experience.


“Never to lie.”

“Right, and what else?”

“To especially never lie to you.”

He put his arm around me. “Exactly. Let’s go inside.”


I also learned, as a little side tip: don’t waste your time trying to be courteous in the bathroom with the air freshener. Just flush and run, people.


Flush and run!