I always love to do a post right after I have got off the phone complaining to my husband how I simply have waaaaay to much to do at work, and, WAAAAH, people keep bugging my in my office and on the phone and "How's a high-level exec like me going to cope??* and "anyway-can't-talk-now-as-impossibly-busy-and-important, buh-bye, i looooooove youuuuuuuu.....!"
But then, THEN, I have an experience I feel I must share immediately, while the moment remains raw and naked fear still grips me! This is what real writing** is about, dammit, carpe diem and all that. And after what I have just experienced, there's going to be a whole lot of carpe dieming going on around here, let me tell you.... For I have just stared death in the face, gazed into the porcelain abyss (if you will) and the vehicle of my mortal decline is to be none other than a faulty lavatory.
Seriously people. I just flushed the office toilet (being polite like that) and the thing fucking EXPLODED with a noise I can only compare to rapid incoming fire. Well. One shot of rapid incoming fire.
I nearly soiled myself. (how appropriate). (And no, that would not have been the first time i had the opportunity to pee myself within the immediate vicinity of the toilet arrangements, but this time it was not circa 1989 and I was not tripped out on heady cocktail of amphetamine/booze at some warehouse "party." This time I would be like person you see on film/t.v. with pee trickling silently down leg to signify deep and primal fear. BTW, did you know that when you die, the first thing you do is "evacuate bladder and bowels"...? Yeah, there's always that to hold on to)
So, no... the toilet did not physically shatter into pieces. But it was seriously loud, like big fucking ammunition.There is no flooding or even the fire brigade to involve (much to my "I need validation" chagrin). Just me standing in the staff-loo going "wha??? huh??? FUCK!!" and grabbing at any passing staff-member "did you hear that, did you HEAR that???" "the explosion...yeah, there was an explosion... uhm...forget it..."
And then picturing my own demise, and my husband having to explain to my son that "mummy loved him very, very much... and...well she was killed by an exploding toilet..." OR "mummy is resting now, but her bootie-butt will never be quite the same...."(Boyo's current favorite word: "bootie-butt." We have no effing clue why, as this is not a term we use freely to refer to arse-cheeks in our house).
The headlines! Imagine the headlines! (because I am so very important, headlines will surely be involved). "Faulty toilet system blamed for tragic death of young mother." Too awful to imagine (but I'll try). "PhD Dies in Freak Lavatory Accident: U authorities promise to clean up their act..." (snort)
I just called maintenance, and apparently the explosion can be attributed to various "airlocks" that are in system after water was turned off over weekend. And I am not the only one to "have been alarmed..." This means that somewhere, across this building, there are people who are silently suffering like me. People who have nearly experienced ass-explosion. Am now off to establish support group for those affected.
*no, i am not a high level exec. i have used the term here for dramatic effect. i am in academia--we shun management-like titles. and order. and accountability in the workplace. luckily for me.
**and by "real writing" I mean blogging, where something as banal has having the toilet make a loud noise can become instantaneous fodder for blog post read by tens of avid readers.