Unclogging A Sink With A Plunger..

Every once in a while, I go to my great-grandmother's apartment that's about a 5 minute walk from my school. Usually, these trips are pretty uneventful, but sometimes, as some of you read when she turned into Captain Suppository, it can get very very interesting. This was one of those trips.

I walk in expecting to have to do anything I can to prevent the place from burning down, but thankfully, it was somewhat quiet when I walked in, which is definitely an irregularity in her case. I sat down, and did my homework, ready to leave at any minute. My mom called, telling me she was downstairs, and she wanted me to let her in to the building. I walked down, excited that I escaped all cruel and unusual punishment. What happened next was one of the worst experiences I've ever had at her apartment.

We go back up, and now she has all these chores for us to do (throw out her 3-month-old food, wipe down the floors, etc). Compared to some of the other chores I've done for her, this was nothing. I thought, hey, how long could it take. So I throw out the garbage, and start to get ready to leave. But now she wants me to do something that I never thought I'd have to do in my entire life. Plunge, her sink. Yes, you read correctly, I had to go get her plunger, for her toilet, and plunge all of the water out of her sink because the garbage disposal was broken so she couldn't drain the water any other way. By this point, I'm so angry that I start to just take pictures of the scenario, giving myself something to laugh about later.

So, I start to plunge, the kitchen smelling of food that decayed about 3 years prior. Apparently once you get old you forget what a trash can is. But anyway, there I am, plunging away at this toilet, delusional to the point where I'm laughing uncontrollably, and my mother is there standing, "supervising" this fiasco. When I get done, I say to her, "Let's go mom, we need to leave now!" But then my uncle Mo calls, and there goes another 13 minutes of my life, well spent I will admit. Talking to Mo is like talking to a 7 year old with a bunch of firecrackers. It's fun, but very dangerous. But while this is happening, my granny somehow figures out a way to clog the sink again, so I resume my position as official sink plunger. Finally, after 3 or 4 rounds of "Get The Water Down The Drain", we leave, drained of any energy left in our body.

Moral of the story is, never go to your Great-Grandmother's house. It never ends well.