My Love Life Goes Down the Drain

I was 17 or 18 at the time and I’d gotten a head-start on moving from my folks’ home into a two-story apartment just down from five-points in Toledo, Ohio.

Living there were my band-mates; Matt, Mark, and Fox—the guitarist, drummer, and bassist, and we must’ve considered ourselves as some sort of modern-day rock prodigies, because despite the fact we had yet to land a single gig, we partied constantly as though we were on tour in Europe.

As is bound to happen during these pursuits, the apartment was crowded with strangers every weekend. Whether they came from down the block or from the college town 30 minutes west, we were often greeted at the door by folks we’d not only never met, but approached with such liquid-confidence, we often figured SOMEone invited them, and would accordingly turn them loose inside.

I met Brittany at one of these impromptu gatherings, and I was wildly infatuated with her. She was, after all, a college girl! I’d only ever dated high school girls since I’d dropped out, but college girls were a whole new ball-game, and I was up to bat.

After becoming acquainted and sharing further interest in one another, we scheduled a date. She invited me to her dormitory to watch a few flicks, drink a few beers, and meet a few of her friends.

I arrived in good spirits sporting a twelve-pack at my side, took and gave introductions, and settled next to Brittany to start the movie. Mind you, I am at the grand awkward stage of my life where simply having my hand gripped, if sweaty, would turn my face into a deep, crimson red, embarrassing me to no end. You all remember that age.

Sure enough, sweaty hands were the least of my concerns.

Upon the arrival of all her guests, she made the announcement, “If you need to use the bathroom, feel free to pee here, but the toilet doesn’t flush. I have a plumber coming next week, so if you need to drop a deuce, there’s a fast-food joint just down the block.” Giggles and affirmative nods followed, and the feature presentation began. Without sweaty hands, I confidently clasped her hand within mine and, feeling like “the man,” we snuggled closer.

Having just begun my experimentations with alcoholic consumption, I was not yet familiar with the symptoms of over-indulgence, but was quickly & eagerly learning with the ambition of a 4.0 GPA student.

One of these symptoms, of course, was short-term memory, but I couldn’t be bothered by any of that nonsense, because my bowels had began screaming for release, and I’m not one to turn a deaf ear to the woes of natural bodily-functions. I excused myself as politely as I could, and swayed down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Man, I am one lucky son-of-gun,” I thought to myself, opening and then closing the bathroom door behind me. “This girl is absolutely gorgeous, she’s into me, and I’m in there like swim-wear!” I positioned myself on the porcelain throne and made waste with haste. “I’m gonna put my arm around her, I think. How are my pits?” I gave my left and right sides a brief scratch and sniff, assessed all systems go, and started to wrap up my business.

I stood and briefly rendered a coy smile at my reflection, plotted my move, and proceeded to flush the toilet before washing my hands.

*flush*

Before I’d even moved for the soap, my eyes clasped shut and the voice echoed in my head: “There’s a fast-food joint just down the block. There’s a fast-food joint just down the block. There’s a fast-food joint...”

“Holy hell,” I said to myself. “I wonder if they got a dollar menu—I am hungry!”

That’s when the water in the porcelain caught my attention. Feeling rather imbibed, confusion grasped every fiber of my being, and was followed by an unmatched dread. Often, beer or no beer, when one flushes a toilet, the water should descEND! Here, it was rapidly approaching the top, and to my prayers answered, settled just on the edge of no return.

Legs spread shoulder-length apart and my hands, palms out as if shielding myself from the blow of some intimidating, charging beast, I breathed a sigh of relief and began Sherlocking the hell out of the situation.

Unfortunately, my wits weren’t operating at full capacity, and with no further consideration, I flushed again. Right? I mean, if it didn’t go down the first time, SURELY it’d act right if given the benefit of the doubt and a second chance at success! It had certainly been rehabilitated since the threat of a meltdown by thine own hand, and where else was all that water to go if not down?

As it cascaded over the edges and onto the floor, I took that opportunity to picture God and Jesus falling over each other on some distant cloud, slapping each other on the back, pointing, laughing.

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “Divine intervention—God forbid I lose my virginity before I’m 30, you button-hooking bastards!”

It’d do no good to shake my fist at the ceiling. This required action, swift and accurate.

“You drunk sonuvabitch!” I scolded myself. “Had you just remained sober, you could’ve avoided this entire debacle! But no- you had to drink- you had to get drunk- you...”

I met my gaze of “eureka” in the mirror and, unable to detect a bad idea from a good one, immediately set my plan into action.

“I’m drunk!” I reaffirmed. “I have no good, earthly reason to act by the confines of a strict, decent society! All bets are off, buddy boy!” I turned the faucet to the tub on full-blast and began removing my shoes. “I’m new to this sort of lifestyle, after all. I was raised a good, kind-hearted, and honest Christian boy! Unleash the devil-juice in the temple of my body where Jesus resides, chicka, and there will be hell to pay! I’ll forgive ya, mind you!”

I laid flat in the tub and turned the handle to switch the flow from the faucet to the shower-head.

“That’s what we do—we forgive!” I said, choking off at the end and getting a little emotional. “We forgive despite any transgression, whether it be lying, cheating, or soiling up your girlfriend’s bathroom floor with human excrement and gray-water.”

The water had ceased cascading, but the smoking gun was its calm, tranquil position at the very edge of the bowl, and something had to be done.

Of course there was no plunger—this would give credence to the idea that somebody up there actually liked me, and there had been far too many factors of evidence to promote that hope.

So, I used the plunger God gave me and shoved my fist directly into the clogged, resistant hole, demanding it obey my desperate pleas for absolution. “Why” *splash* “must” *splosh* “you” *splish* “forsaken” *splush* “me!!!!”

And then the storm-clouds parted and the angels sang—the water began its recession to the pits of hell where it belonged, and I got back to the task at hand—producing an explanation for a flooded floor.

Like putting the icing on a cake, I turned the shower-head ever so slightly so that it’d both hit me with a steady stream while a quarter of its contents spilled onto the floor.

My masterpiece was complete, and I sat back in a sort of sick satisfaction, patting myself on the back for, what seemed at the time, my brilliant execution.

Within five minutes, as I’d been missing for some time, my date knocked at the bathroom door.

“Let her knock, you handsome devil. You’re drunk and passed out in the tub, fully clothed, and soaked to the core,” I laughed to myself.

The door was pushed open, and laughter ensued. “Awwww- babe! What are you doing?!”

I “stirred awake” and sat up.

“Why am I wet?” I asked in the groggiest tone I could muster.

“Sweetie- you’re taking a shower in your clothes,” she said, and her friends erupted in laughter again. “And you got water all over the floor!”

She began laughing, too, and I started apologizing. “I don’t remember how this happened- baby, I’m so sorry...”

“Hush-hush, sweetie. Let’s put you to bed and get your clothes in the dryer. I’ve got some towels- don’t worry about the floor.”

Her friends were dismissed to their homes and I was placed in her bed to “sleep it off.”

That’s when I cursed myself.

“There’s a fast-food joint just down the block.”

I was still hungry, but there could be no blowing my cover. It’d have to wait for breakfast.