Getting a new toilet is a surreal experience.
The missus and I have been fighting the plunger doohickey on our toilet for months. It was an old model; the flusher was this knob on top that you yanked up and dropped, like you were playing an old pinball game horizontally. Not only was it flaky and unreliable, but I really didn’t want to see what happened if we ever hit ‘multiball’ mode.
So we finally bit the bidet and had it replaced. The new commode is modern, sleek, low-flow, high-efficiency, and flushes like a Rolls Royce.
“I don’t really enjoy feeling uncomfortable or out of sorts when my bare ass is dangling around an unfamiliar piece of porcelain. Call me old-fashioned, I guess.”
(Or like a Rolls Royce would, if Rolls Royces were made for the purpose of transporting turds.
To which some people would say: “They are.“)
It’s also very different, which is not bad, exactly. But it’s not good, either. I don’t really enjoy feeling uncomfortable or out of sorts when my bare ass is dangling around an unfamiliar piece of porcelain. Call me old-fashioned, I guess.
The weirdness with our new bathroom appliance started right with the delivery. As the plumber was carrying it in, one of the upstairs neighbors strolled by and asked, “Puttin’ in a new terlet, are you?”
First of all, Commode-odore Obvious — yes, yes we are. That’s some razor-sharp deductive reasoning there, what with you noticing the guy with plumber’s crack carrying a box marked “TERLET!” and all. Try not to spend all the magic in one place, there, Sherlock.
Secondly — after choking the above back because the missus says I “have to be nice!” — how does one respond appropriately to that question? I mean, some outsider has now seen that we’re replacing our poop shooter.
Should I be embarrassed? Nonchalant? Excited? (“I’ma crap in that baby all. Night. Long!“) Proud? (“Oh yeah, we wore the hell out of the old one. Nearly broke ‘er in half!“) Offended?
I went with “severely disinterested”, and shut the door in his face.
(Which doesn’t count as “nice”, according to my wife. But at least I didn’t call the guy “Commode-odore Obvious”. I’m calling it a push.)
The toilet went in one morning last week, and after the trip to and from work and all the crying under my desk and such, I’d completely forgotten by the time I came home. So when I hustled to the bathroom to empty my bladder, I had quite the nice surprise waiting there.
And then I peed in it.
This was also a fairly surreal experience. It’s not so often in life that you have an “oh, how nice!” sort of feeling, and then immediately urinate all over what caused it. That sort of behavior is frowned upon, for instance, at a surprise birthday party:
“Oh, you shouldn’t have! And look, what a lovely cake!”
That’s no way to put out the candles, is all I’m saying. Similarly, you probably shouldn’t react to a chance meeting with an old friend with:
“Hi! What’s it been, six months?”
“Hey, it’s great to see you!”
Most old chums won’t take kindly to being tinkled on in public.
(And if they did, then you’d be talking to them more than twice a year, now, wouldn’t you? Yeah, you would. You nasty.)
So, we’ve got a new toilet and we’re acclimating as best we can. It’ll take a while to break in, to get used to all the angles and nuances and quirks. But so far, so good — if a little strange in the early going.
I just wonder what they did with the old one. It’s probably up in pinball toilet heaven now, romping around with the other pre-war commodes, frolicking on clouds of baby wipes and Cottonelle. And maybe — just maybe — the old girl finally got to hit multiball.
Aw. I bet she’d like that.Permalink | 1 Comment