Throne-plosion

Today I learned the true meaning of fear. Hard at work trying to finish up a paper mere hours before it was due, I retired to the bathroom to, you know, use it. I closed the lid and stepped on the flusher which I like to do for a few seconds because - in the immortal words of John Cage - "I like a fresh bowl."

I must have blinked because the next thing I knew the toilet suddenly became the closest thing I'll ever get to a geyser, or maybe a landmine. I'm not kidding when I say the thing blew up cartoon-style. So there I am in my early morning study gear of too short/too tight sweatpants, crocs, and a t-shirt howling at the top of my lungs as ice cold toilet water turns my bathroom into a veritable swimming pool. Post-traumatic stress disorder allowed me to clean myself up and hose down the bathroom with bleach, plus drag our landlord with the anger management problem into the apartment to fix the toilet all without shedding a single tear. The landlord - a guy known for shouting obscenities at inanimate objects like the garbage cans in the courtyard - happened to be wearing his dress pants and a very fancy pair of shoes. While snaking the bowl he told me that just yesterday he got bleach on his "best jeans" which "really pissed me off." Yeah, I bet it did.

So everything's back together, though I'm terrified of using the thing now. I can't even say the word. The T-thing. Anyway, it's technically safe to use, but I think I'm going to have to go pee at the Key Food for the next few days.