This morning I was telling Liz that my bathtub is clogged. I said that I was sheepish about mentioning it to the Super because I think that it’s Elvis’ fault and since he isn’t here anymore (something that makes me sad every day) I was going to have to take the blame for it.
You see my cat spent quite a bit of time sitting in the bathtub. Since he also spent a more than an equal amount of time in his litter box, sometimes litter would stick to his little paws and I believe that that is why the water won’t drain in my tub.
Liz told me that I won’t be able to unclog it myself because that stuff is like cement.
About a half hour ago I decided I’d have to try.
I took a plunger and though I got a good suction, not a drop of water went down.
I was just telling Raymond that he and I would have to go over to Home Depot and get some drain cleaner when my doorbell rang.
It was my Super. He wanted me to let some guy measure something on my terrace.
I took this as a sign from God.
“Lester, his name is Lester, I can’t believe it’s you. I need help.” Then I went on to tell him the whole story apologizing for Elvis’ misdeed.
He followed me into my bathroom and watched while I reached over with my plunger and showed him how useless it was.
“See? it’s not helping at all. Will we need a snake?”
” I don’t think so. This might be why the plunger isn’t working” and he leaned over and flipped up the little switch that opens the drain. The water immediately went down.
I handled it the only way I knew how. I pretended I was dead.
As he was leaving he smiled and said “I’m telling people”.
NOTE: I am no longer writing clever adventurous anecdotes in this blog. Instead I’m tracing my inevitable steps towards senility.
ANOTHER NOTE: The picture of Elvis shouldn’t make you sad. He was loved. Not everyone can say that.