Oct 15, 2011

Kyle vs. The Toilet

Kyle Lucas Uncategorized bathroom floor, beater, door, face, greek god, gym shorts, home, sitcoms, toilet water, water 0 Comment

This is a true story of a man and his toilet. I have thrown a lot of crap at my toilet, sometimes pissing all over it in a degrading manner. But no matter how much shit my toilet has taken from me over the years…it just was not ready for October 1st, 2011.

It was a rather basic Saturday night. Hanging with the guys, having some beers, drinking some average grade Scotch, but treating it like it is aged 30 years. There were a few bars, a few more drinks, and some shots. There were many women left insulted, many hands high-fived, and many fists bumped. The typical broing out fest of a 20-something-year-old man.

Interestingly enough, the tale takes a harsh spin after the night had ended. I don’t know about you all, but I typically assume that once I have made it home, in my apartment, and into my gym shorts, that so long as I didn’t bring home some blanket hogging sea walrus of a woman, the rough part of the night is over. Nothing left to to do but fall asleep with my hand in my shorts while watching sitcoms on TV, and wait for the hang over to begin.

Boy was I wrong.

Let me start with what I remember happening, and then I will describe what actually happened (or at least, what I have pieced together over the last few weeks.)

I come to. I’m on my bathroom floor, very dizzy, and quite wet. Did I fall asleep in the shower? Seems likely. But no. I stand up, and immediately fall back down. I laugh to myself, contemplating what I drank before getting in the cab. I try and stand again; once again, I tumble back down.

Now my head starts to clear. Not only am I wet, but my face is being sprayed by water. And I’m lying in a full inch of water. What the hell happened?

It is then that I see the toilet.

All that remains is the bowl. The back is completely gone. In its place is what seemed like a fire hoze, spraying me in the face with the fury of the Greek God of the Seas. There’s something about being sprayed in the face by cold toilet water that wakes you up. I sprang into action!!

And fell again.

I got back up and tried to turn off the water…but it wouldn’t turn off! I grab my phone to call the emergency maintenace staff for the apartment community I live at. My phone is dead. Fluid spilling out of every opening like it had just been water boarded. I remember that other employees live on site! I head for the door…

And I fall again.

I’m back up, racing out the door and down the steps. Barefoot. In my gym shorts. And a wife beater. It’s 42 degrees outside.

I find an employee’s apartment and bang on the door, still a bit wobbly, out of breath, and teeth chattering. He answers the door, looking pale and frightened. At the time, I could not figure out why (more on that later). I calmly tell him to call emergency maintenance immediately (I believe my exact words were “MY FUCKING TOILET EXPLODED!!!”). And then I was off!!

I didn’t fall this time.

By the time maintenance got the water shut off, the apartment below mine had water dumping through the ceiling lights. It looked like the Titanic sinking in there. And that apartment flooding led to the apartment BELOW it flooding.

I sat with my downstairs neighbor, smoking a cigarette and staring off into space. The adrenaline wore off, the numbness from the cold subsided, and the pain kicked in. I suddenly become aware that my side is killing me. It is now that I realize why everyone was so scared when seeing me.

The bloody wife beater.

I had blood all over me. My wife beater was stained, and my ribs were bleeding heavily. I found a significantly large piece of porcelain wedged into my side, and it was very swollen. My head felt like a train hit it, and my jaw was bleeding. For the life of me, I don’t remember drinking all that much, and yet my head is spinning. I eventually find a place to stay and sleep it off.

Here is what I gather actually happened.

When I came home, I changed out of my clothes and walked through the bathroom. When I shower, I typically don’t dry off well, so my floor is perpetually wet and slippery. I figure I must have slipped on the water (*insert comical clown slip noise here). When I tried to raise my arm to catch myself, I missed the wall and fell into my toilet. 240 lb men are not meant to fall over. Judging by the injury, my arm was in the air when I hit the tank of the toilet, ribs first, and shattered it. After discussing with my cab driver what time he dropped me off, he said it was around 1:35. The flood was halted at 2:45. My guess is, I was knocked out. The end result? A pretty gross cut with two cracked ribs, having to go all day Sunday without a toilet, and having to face my neighbors, friends and co-workers the next day. Oh, did I not mention that? The apartment community where I live, where this all took place…I work there. Lovely.

And thus ends the battle of Kyle vs. The Toilet. I am not quite sure who won, in the end. Sure, the toilet was destroyed, never to feel the warm embrace of ass cheeks again, but its suffering was over. I, on the other hand, was left with the horrific memory of what I had done. My reality was shattered. My apartment is no longer a safe house, a place where I am untouchable to the effects of drunken debauchery. I must now look at my reflection in the mirror-like waters of a toilet, and relive the memory of the time I gave The People’s Elbow to a crapper and destroyed it. I may have won the battle…but The Toilet won the war.

Here are some other images.