Wednesday, May 28, 2014

There’s Poo in the Fairy Garden

At first it was just a few tell-tale gurgles in the kitchen sink. My heart sank. I knew that noise.

I went into the bathroom where my husband was supervising the nightly shower ritual, which tends to involve ‘Let It Go’ played very loudly on repeat, lots of yelling over the top of the loud music and masses of water on the floor.

Last night was no different, but this time I had to put a stop to it early.

‘Keep the showers short tonight,’ I said. ‘The drain is blocked and the kitchen sink is filling.’

My husband shot me one of those looks. The ones that have to suffice when you really want to swear but you’re surrounded by lots of impressionable children.

As he finished the showers, the bubbling in the kitchen sink was joined by gurgling in the toilet. Awesome, I thought. It won’t be long now. It wasn’t.

Kids in bed, we started our search for the LED torch and the plunger. We could find neither. Using a cheap plastic Toy Story torch, about as useful as a glow in dark necklace, we tried in vain to locate something to attack the drain with. A quick trip to Bunnings later and my husband valiantly removed the lid from the drain.

What happened next was like something out of a horror film, but unlike films which manufacture slime and other hideous things out of dough and clay, in our case, the hideous things were actually made of… well, shit.

As the content of the drain ran freely and happily into the garden, I watched a little poo bob to the surface and float merrily along where it bumped into the Fairy Tree.

The fairies aren’t going to be too happy about that, I thought.

Putting the lid back on the drain was no longer an option so we went inside to call an emergency plumber. 

By this stage it was 8pm.

Now mums, here is some good advice: if your kids want a trade consider plumbing. The first plumber we called wanted $279 for a call out fee plus an extra $55 per 15 minutes. Our mistake was to dither, because the by the time we called another company, the time had ticked by and the call out fee was $460 with an estimated arrival time of between 10pm and 1am.

It is a phenomenal amount of money, but probably well deserved, because apart from the parents who have to deal with the faecal output of their own cherubs in the wee small hours, I can’t imagine many other people who relish the fact of dealing with free flowing poo in the middle of the night. Not that parents probably relish it either.

We decided to leave it until early the next morning.

This morning when we woke, all the kids wanted to see was the poo in the garden. Instead, overnight, large rags and squares of fabric had bobbed to the surface, as well as the distinctive appearance of shredded toilet paper.

‘I can’t see any poo,’ the Mop said looking out the window. She sounded disappointed. I couldn’t see any either, and I wondered what the Fairies had done with their little poo friend.

The Bombshell was clutching herself awkwardly. ‘I really need to go to the toilet,’ she said worriedly.

‘Go,’ I said. ‘Just don’t flush.’

A couple of hours later, and everyone else was at work, school or daycare. I was waiting for the Water Corp to fix the problem so I sat down at my desk (the kitchen table, right next to the drain) to start work on my final uni assignment. All I could see was brown water and toilet paper and those enormous rags. I closed the blinds and tried to ignore the brilliant sparkles reflecting through the glass as the sun valiantly shone on the pool of raw sewerage. It felt as though it was mocking me with its glorious happiness. Shiny happy poo.

The Water Corp arrived and unblocked the drain and did a pretty good clean up considering what they were working with.

We stood and surveyed the damage.

“It will be pretty good for the garden,’ one said helpfully.

Raw sewage?

‘But not for the fairies,’ I told them. We perused the fairy garden, still with wet toilet paper wedged against the mushrooms and garden gnomes.

‘Tell the kids the fairies have gone on holiday for a week,’ the other suggested.

A wise suggestion.

Oh, and by the way: if any of my up-hill neighbours ever read this and are responsible for throwing rags in the toilet, please know this: the fairies have put a curse on you.

I have resisted to put in a picture with obvious visible poo... or have I?

1 comment:

  1. What a hideous situation to be in. Well done to you for keeping your sense of humor throughout it all.


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