It has often been my theory that if you don’t go outside, nothing will go wrong.
Then I moved to Chicago.

Whatever the reason, clog in the system, too much water in the pipes, or maybe my toilet was magically clogged without anyone using it – The toilet overflowed.

I’m not talking about “Filling to high and evening out.”

I’m talking “Filling to high, overflowing, and soaking the carpet in a five foot radius of the door, and even more in the foam padding under the carpet.”

I call down to the front desk, saying my toilet is over flowing. “You don’t have a plunger?” was their response.

“Not right now,” I said as I was raiding my roommates’ bathroom and closet, searching for one.

By the time the Belmont House crewman makes his way up, the problem has “solved itself.” (Read: I stopped the toilet from overflowing, but the carpet is still soaked.)

The crewman, having nothing to do, offered to vacuum the excess water up. He left not to long ago, and the padding is still soaked. Every time you step over it, it squishes.

Not to mention is smells like shit in our apartment now.

The only joy in this moment is that my mother reminded me it was Thursday.

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