LADEELEROY

2005-06-20

GUESTBOOK
PROFILE
OLDER ENTRIES
E-MAIL ME
12% BEER
DIARYLAND
 
Part II
 
  Ok.

Before you can read any further, you should probably get the background to this story by reading the previous entry. Granted, the previous entry is not golden, but it's charming and it's a good lead in to my telling you about my Saturday.


So go ahead and read that first. I'll wait until you come back to tell it to you.

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And we're back.

Like I said, not golden, but the following has everything to do with the fucking clogged sink.


So I'm subletting right now. And the person I've been subletting with has been very kind and patient with me. Late night hours. Clacking on the keyboard all times night and day. She's been a peach.

Friday night, my car didn't start. Yeah, that was a real bitch, but it's not the point. But just know that all of this kind of had a 'and on top of that I had no car' sort of vibe greased on it.


Anyway, I'm home early on Friday night and I'm reminded that there a crap load of spagetti in the fridge that I didn't eat. I didn't eat it because it upset my stomach, so it stayed in there for a couple of days. A crap load of spagetti.

I decide to throw it out. No use keeping it.

I put it down the garbage disposal, this entire crapload of spagetti. Just pushing it in because I thought 'Eh. The disposal will eat it all.'

When it was all in there, I turned to disposal off.

It gurgled.

It gurgled a little more.


And then a small geyser shot out of the drains on both sides. I had clogged the sink.

The sweet sublet roomie called the landloard over to fix it.

Again, I had no ride, so I was at home and I decided to do a load of laundry until he arrived. Put my clothes in, a cup of detergent, turn the knob, boom. Clothes being washed.

Two minutes later I was lured back to the laundry room by the sound of water splashing on the ground.

Ah, fuck. The washer is clogged, too. Fuck fuck fuck. I really fucked the plumbing up with all of that spagetti.

Landlord comes over, does some magic plumbing stuff under the sink. Goes to HomeDepot, comes back and connects this high pressured hose head onto the outside garden hose.

'I'm just going to blow it all out,' he explained.

He climbed on the roof because that's where the houses blow hole was and I followed to assist with the turning of the spigot.

Turn it on high and watch as water gushes out of the blow hole. 'Wow. It's really jammed in there, all that spagetti,' the landlord exclaimed.

Finally, after many tries a clearing noise is heard and water stops rushing out of the blow hole and happily returned to the pipes below the house.

'Phew. Cleared' said the landlord.

I turned off the spigot. My attention was suddenly fetched by the sounds of gushing water and splatting. I walked to the laundry room and-

and-


There was fucking spagetti everywhere. It was on the walls, it was on the ceiling, it was on the washer, inside of the washer, on the window across the way. It created a pasta shag rug on the cement floor. Spagetti was flowing out like a fountain from one of the pipes attached to the washing machine. A waterfall of noodles cascaded out in teirs and created ebbs and ripples in the pasta puddle below.

'Oh shit! The laundry room!' I said really loudly.

The landlord decended from the roof and rushed to the door frame where I stood befuddled by the image before me.

'Whoa.' he muttered. 'That'sa lotta spagetti.'

I was completely speechless. My mouth hung open in disbelief and my mind raced on how I was going to tell the sublet roomie that I broke her house with spagetti.

Minutes later, the landlord had reconnected his hose and was flushing out the laundry room's pipe line until it was clear.

'Next time you make spagetti, don't put it in the disposal. If you've got too much, invite me over so I don't have to do this again,' the landlord jabbed lightly. Then he got in his car and left me with the noodley aftermath of the plumbing carnage.

It took me almost three hours to clean out all of that pasta. I had to disconnect the dryer and push it by myself so I could collect all of the spagetti that had gathered beneath it. Samething with the washer, which now contained a load of my clothes as well as a hearty serving of spagetti. I swept out all of the remains. I picked off every floury splattered bit from the walls, shelf, water hearter, washer and dryer as well as the ceiling.

By the time I was finished, I had two plastic grocery bags filled with wet spagetti and laundry room floor filth.

And that's what my Satruday afternoon was like. It got better as the day went on, but dammit. That's not what I wanted it to be like at all and I'm so pissed that my free day was stolen by my having to clean up after my mistakes.

Dammit.

How was your Saturday afternoon?

 
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Copyright 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004 L.Leroy