oh, and the niners lost.

I am not one to spend money on insurance or warranties or protection plans. Like [astute political reference], I am typically short-sighted when it comes to matters of financial security. Why spend a little extra now when I can put it into my savings account (and by savings account, I mean the nearest place that sells food)? Who cares that I always break my iPod/Blackberry/U-Haul? Why spend $18 now when I can spend $265 later on a whole new one? Better yet, I often choose not to learn from my mistakes. So when the next expensive piece of equipment dies on me for no reason after I drop it, I don’t think “hey I’m accident prone, I better play it safe.” Instead I choose to forgive and forget (as in, forgive myself and then quickly forget anything substantial I could have learned).

I think that a toilet plunger is that AppleCare Protection Plan of your bathroom. It is a forgettable purchase, and, for some, an embarrassing one. I, for one, choose not to be embarrassed by drug store purchases. Why, yes, that is a large tub of Metamucil I am buying. Thank you. Debit, please. The plunger is a purchase I often forgo / forget simply because it sort of falls under that category of insurance. Not something I need at the moment I am in the drug store, so something I never think to buy while I’m there. It is, in fact, a useless object until disaster strikes.

Disaster struck. It did not strike me in either perpetrator or host. But, I was that supporting character who helped keep the action of the story going. The Judy Greer, if you will. So, perpetrator, host, and Judy Greer were sitting around, watching TV, and disaster struck. After it was established that the easiest single-person solution (that is, the plunger) was not available, we put our heads together.

Sometimes there is a situation that can only be made worse by group work. For example, a clogged toilet with no plunger. There was actually a moment in which two of us shouted a simultaneous “no no no no no!” as the third pulled a chain. Perpetrator referred to it as the new Katrina. You’re doing a heck of a job, Brownie (I can’t take credit for that poop joke, but I am not one to let a poop joke, however plagiarized, pass by). As brownie was doing its job, the levees had broken. Water. Everywhere. (Water, of course, being a euphemism).

With someone now trapped in a bathtub, we sprinkled a whole pack of paper towels on the ground. I had earlier suggested that dish soap can help to loosen clogged drains. It did succeed in making the water soapier, which I suppose is a step in the right direction. So, the soapy flood waters were now a big papery mess as we debated the fate of the bathmat.

Then, we found a plunger. Well, most of a plunger. The handle was so short that one’s (my) hands had to be submerged in water (again, euphemism) to use it. Also, we found dish gloves. Well, I found them. Sorry, host’s mom. These had a higher calling. Thankfully, a plunger is a very effective tool. The waters receded and all that was left to do was throw away the hundreds of paper towels, the plunger, and the dish gloves, mop the floor, and then close the door behind us.

It was a good reminder to me that in my own bathroom, it might be a good idea to have a plunger on hand, in the spirit of always hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. And someone over there is going to have to remember to buy a new plunger, too.

And some new dish gloves.