the Detroit Plunger story

It was spring, spring break that is. Instead of heading south like so many college students do, we headed north, to Detroit inner city. To say it was cold would be an understatement; it was freezing. We (the 40 of us) were all staying in a run-down motel a few miles out of the heart of the city.

One particular night some of the girls in our group approached me and asked if they could talk to me privately. I agreed and we went away from the groups that had formed outside our hotel rooms. One girl whispered in my ear that they had blocked their toilet and needed help unblocking it. An honest request, seeing how they had never done it before, it must have been someone else’s job back home... I walk into their room which is dark (lighting isn’t great in these cheap hotels) and make a bee-line for the bathroom. The bathroom is dark as well, but I’m trying to help them quickly so there’s less embarrassment and I wanted to show them it’s no big deal, a simple task. The plunger is already standing in the toilet.

I grab the top of the plunger, when I say I grab it, I mean the palm of my hand rests on the top of the plunger. I noticed an unfamiliar squishiness in my hand, a wet squishiness that is foreign to me. I think to myself, “hmmm, why would the wooden plunger handle be not only wet, but also squishy?” Nearly instantly the answer comes rocketing to my mind. I release the grip I had put on the handle and slowly turn my hand over as I pull it away. Now stuck to my hand is toilet paper and yes, human poop. I glance over at the handle to see a PILE of paper and poop mixed together sitting squarely on-top of the handle, like a flag at the top of a flagpole.

Silently I walk out of the bathroom and into the dimly (but brighter) room where the girls are sitting on the bed. My palm turned up, showing my new “presents”. The girls instantly roar in laughter and pull the covers over their heads in embarrassment. At this point, I think I’m shaking in utter repulsiveness, mouth open and head moving back and forth in disgust. Words don’t describe, heck, I didn’t even know what I was suppose to think about all this! I walk back into the bathroom and plunge, crap in hand and all. Over and over and over, until I get it fixed. I wiped off my hands with toilet paper, washed them multiple times, cleaned the top of the plunger off and left.

Bottom line: when you volunteer to help plunge a girl’s toilet, remember, they don’t understand the sheer complexity of a plunger so be prepared for any and everything.