*Warning: This story is pretty disgusting. If you’re weak of stomach, turn back now. For the same reason this story contains no images. Be grateful*
It was always going to happen and in truth I’m surprised it took so long, but on the fourth day I awoke with a killer hangover. The night before, exhilarated from our trip to Sugarloaf and our swim in the Atlantic at Red Beach <LINK>, we overindulged in the local beers.
I stumbled to the toilet as a hangover shit had slowly brewed itself inside my rotting guts during the night. Evacuating myself I tried not to recoil from the strength of alcohol infused shit.
Task done I flushed the toilet. The bowl fills, the water swirls. Nothing happens.
I stare, horrified, as a bowl filled to the brim of shit-infused toilet water, speckled with snowflakes of toilet paper, idly spins in front of me.
“Oh fuck no” I mutter.
“OH FUCK!” I scream. “Ohshitohshitohshitohshit” I ramble.
I try to dislodge the block with the toilet brush but all I’m doing is breaking up the chunks and turning it into a bowl of shit soup.
I hear Marta mutter “Wha?” from the bedroom.
I walk in cross my arms over my chest and growl “The toilet’s clogged’. Instantly blaming her because someone had to be blamed since I was angry and there was no one else around.
She jumps up like she’s been struck by lightning, all signs of drowsiness gone. “WHAT?!” she barks, wide eyed.
I repeat myself and she runs into to see for herself. Close to tears she starts freaking out. “What are we going to do? What are we going to do?”
I start to dig for ideas. It’s fine I tell myself, all we need is a plunger.
We take a walk to two nearby hardware stores. Both closed. Maybe it’s too early, I ponder. Reality dawns, it’s still the Carnaval public holidays. By the time everything opens again we’ll have left.
We ask the doorman if he has a plunger. I practice my Portuguese and have a picture handy. “PORTUGUESE” I say. “Nao”, he says, with a quick shake of his head.
We try the same with the next door neighbour. He brings us a toilet brush and says it’s all he has. Thanks, dude. We appreciate the effort.
Returning home empty handed, Marta decides to empty the thing manually and then try to get to the clog. Taking a large jug she empties the toilet a half-litre at a time, shit and all, to get, literally, the bottom of things.
With everything emptied we spot the cause. It’s blocked with toilet paper… and pasta?!
Marta confesses that she flushed her unwanted instant noodles down the toilet last night. I try to find out why this happened but the answers are just as confusing as the reality. I try to ignore it and get back to the problem at hand.
We Google frantically “Unclogging a toilet without a plunger” and find that apparently our only real option without access to more materials is hot water and liquid soap. We try it. It seems to sort of work. We try it again. It seems to sort of work some more. We give it one more go, and, after an hour of hot water and soap, we flush. The bowl fills to the rim again. Total failure, but now we have the world’s cleanest toilet. It smells like a god damn bouquet at this point which is definitely a vast improvement from the shit soup of breakfast time.
We hit Google again. I read something about using a mop with a plastic bag over the top. Then it hits me, I don’t NEED a plunger, I can BE a plunger. I grab the nearest towel, jam it into the bottom of the water filled bowl and start shoving back and forth. Within moments the bowl has emptied. It looks promising…
I throw the towel aside, reach for the flush, hit it…
After hours and hours of panic, several incidents of near puking, having to learn the least useful Portuguese phrase, and Marta having to get elbows deep in liquid shit, we’re done.
I’m hailed as a hero, rightfully so, and we decide that this day can go fuck itself and we’ll spend the rest of it doing basically nothing except eating and sleeping.