Kevin looked at the bowl. At the floating duck. At his brown-stained arm. He took a deep breath and told the truth.
Desperate, Kevin resorted to the internet. “How to unclog toilet with poop” he typed frantically. The results were judgmental. Dish soap. Hot water. A wire hanger. toilet stopped up with poop
A long pause. “…Poop.”
He did. And as the humid July air mixed with the lavender-poopy breeze, Kevin made a silent vow. No more burritos. And from now on, he’d buy the good plunger. Kevin looked at the bowl
But Kevin had already flushed again. A reflexive, terrified third flush. The water breached the rim. A brown, tragic tide spread across the white linoleum, lapping at his bare feet. He squeaked. He took a deep breath and told the truth
Well, that’s not entirely true. Something happened. The water level didn’t go down. It rose . Slowly at first, like a science experiment gone wrong, then with a determined gurgle. Kevin looked down. The bowl was now a crowded, dark exhibition of his earlier enthusiasm. A solid, unyielding blockage of epic proportions sat there, daring the laws of physics to move it.
Panic set in. Kevin did what any 24-year-old man living alone would do: he called his mother.