Sometimes, I get the urge to fix things. So when my sink clogged for the second time in a period of two weeks, I thought, “Well yes! I think I CAN fix a clogged sink. It’s all just gravity, right?” Unfortunately, an hour before, I poured my (red) chicken-broth poaching liquid into the sink, along with corn kernels, expired cream, assorted vegetables, and celery hearts. I didn’t realize that the sink was clogged when I decided to put all this down the sink, but I soon discovered something was amiss.
First I thought that putting the garbage disposal on would drain my sink. The garbage disposal spun the water around but only made a growing cloud of suds. My next idea included putting MORE water into the sink with a prayer that the laws of pressure and gravity would push the clog out of the pipes. The water level just kept rising, and although it did dilute the color of the water, it just increased my stress. That is when I decided I was a plumber.
So I cleared out under the sink and prepared myself with kitchen towels and bowls to catch the putrid water that was floating about my sink. First, I fingered with the bottom of the T-joint and when I finally removed the U-bend, a trickle of about three drops drained from the pipes. At this point, I knew that it had to be a clog in the garbage disposal side of the pipes (which sticks out horizontally). I unscrewed the joint as slowly as manageable and to my surprise, nothing came out. When I actually disassembled the entire junction, I could see that some plastic was clogging the pipes. Of course the first thing I do when I see the foreign plug is put down my catch basins and then touch it.
The next thing I know is that I am covered in poaching liquid with my hand sealing off the pipe that at one point was clogged. I was so confused to what had just happened, but when I looked across the now wet linoleum floor, I saw a rusty spoon and a spoon handle. Some idiot managed to get a spoon-and-a-half past the garbage disposal, where they made residence in the T-joint of my sink’s plumbing. I wiped some swollen corn off my face and some broth out of my brow and stared out onto what I had just done: I flooded my apartment’s kitchen with corn and chicken broth. I sat in the broth for a good three minutes, choking back tears.
Sitting in the broth, I remembered a time when I accidently filled my grandma’s dishwasher with dish soap instead of dishwasher detergent. Her kitchen flooded with suds while I watched in horror. At first, I tried to scoop the suds into the sink with a cup and prayed that God would grant a miracle where the soap would magically transform into detergent. After the miracle didn’t happen, I had to grab my parents and my grandma to clean up my mess.
Unfortunately enough, this time I didn’t have my parents to clean up the mess, or even to wipe the swollen corn off my face, so I turned back into a plumber and went to work. First, I called out to Joel, who was asleep on the couch (at noon). He moaned, rolled over, and ignored any further pleas I made. I knew two of my other roommates were gone, but wasn’t sure if the Finn had left yet. I took my chances and shouted, “Hey Sampo! Sampo! I need some help in here!” in the most manly, plumber voice I could muster. He came into the kitchen, stared at the slowly creeping water, and I handed him two bowls to empty out into the bath. He emptied them and before I could thank him, he was out the door to the apartment downstairs where they never have issues with plumbing. I reassembled the pipes, grabbed all the beach towels that previous roommates had left, and started to sop up the chicken broth. The time for church was readily approaching, and I had yet to have showered. So I did a quick mop up of the floor with the most fragrant cleaner I could find, and hopped into the shower.
After soaping up twice in the shower, I still felt unclean. I considered for a moment the hazards of showering with bleach, but when I stopped pondering I realized that church started in ten minutes. I didn’t really bother with my hair or with shaving, especially because telling my story would get much more pity if I showed up to church looking like I was run ragged. But the entire time I was in church, I felt dirty and I could have sworn I still had swollen corn in my hair. And then I gained revelation: I was never meant to be a plumber.
