Disclaimer: if you are easily grossed out you might not want to read this. Otherwise, proceed.
Nature calls, ladies and gentlemen. Like the minion of a fascist dictator, you heed its call, whether you be half asleep or gallivanting about town, you heed its motherfucking call. I myself heard its siren song whilst preparing for the glorious first public run of the play I am currently in, To Kill A Mockingbird with the Concord Players. Nothing unusual, a simple jaunt to the john and my bladder would be satisfied. So, I saunter into the ladies room and find my relief in the form of…well, you know.
Anyway, I do the deed, flush, correct myself, and begin washing my hands. Suddenly, a strange primordial gurgle surges up from the depths of ancient plumbing and I turn, slowly, much like a soon to be victim in a slasher film, toward the toilet. The water within was rising.
Well, I was unnerved to say the least, and unlike many girls out there, my first inspiration was not to take a sexy shot of myself with it in the background (I think those girls are hilarious), but instead, given that it was a small bathroom in a theater green room, I should take it upon myself to fix the problem with supplied plunger. The toilet seemed ancient, why not give it a hand? Well, one swift shove of the handle and a strange thing began to happen. The water, once clear and unoffensive, grew murky and devilish…”Shit,” I thought. (Pun intended!) Some tired and forgotten vessel of ecoli had apparently become lodged in this bad larry from the previous occupants ass aerobics and with every heave of the plunger, more of some sad shit’s ghost lunged forth from beneath. What were my thoughts, you ask? Oh, I’ll tell ya.
“Fuck! Ass! Now you really have to fix the toilet! If you meander outta here with this monstrosity left behind you, guess who’s ass explosion they’ll be suspecting when they call the plumber? That’s right Caitlin! Don’t be the fall guy! PLUNGE!”
So, I returned to my work, in the 1930’s garb of pearls and perfect eyebrows, watching helplessly as the murk turned to sludge and the sludge began to rise. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!,” I thought.
That’s when a sickening slosh sounded from the pearl bowl before me and an even more disheartening splash from the floor beneath my feet as the water spilled over onto the floor…and into my shoe.
Oh, that’s right, ladies and gentlemen, ‘Miss Stephanie’ here went on stage with someone else’s poo water sloshing in her galoshes. At that point, I tossed the plunger to the ground, dumped out my shoes for fear of leftover debris (yes, debris…grossed out yet?), washed them in the sink, and went to my Stage Manager with the words, “Toilet’s broken, I don’t suggest getting involved if you can’t shower immediately.”
My only consolation at the end of that experience; by the time my SM returned from the bathroom, I wasn’t the only one in the building with poo shoes. 🙂
Have a nice day.