Sunday, 23 September 2012

Tales of the Unexpected


What do you do when you look into a toilet bowl and see, well, something you really didn’t want to see?
My son, Rob, recently moved into his London Apartment.  He’s sharing with three other dentistry students.  I’ve blogged before about their digs.  In a nutshell, it’s an expensive rental that looks slightly better than a squat.  Indeed, when I first stood in my son’s room, the urge to burst into tears was overwhelming.  The only thing I seemed capable of uttering was, ‘This place is a s**thole.’  However, the current condition of the toilet has reinforced that statement.
Rob and his flatmates Duane, Wayne and Jane (not their real names) are all getting down to the nuts and bolts of living with one another.  Things didn’t get off to a great start with Duane.  And unfortunately haven’t improved.

Jane is an organiser.  Rob thrives on pleasing.  And Wayne is a Yes person.  Whereas Duane is just... a pleb.  Within seconds of moving in, Jane purchased a white board.  She wrote up everybody’s lecture schedules and worked out a rota for household chores.  So far Duane has managed to avoid his share with a succession of excuses.  These are now running thin on the ground.  The last excuse was, ‘I don’t know how to mop.’
Jane assigned Robbie to train Duane in vacuuming and mopping, while Wayne cleaned the bathroom and Jane scrubbed the kitchen.  Halfway through vacuuming, Rob realised his trainee had lost interest and locked himself in his room.  And bolted the door for good measure.  Jane, in Manager Mode, told Rob to carry on and she’d speak to Duane later.  Rob dutifully mopped.

Duane later emerged to grab a snack from the fridge.  He left boot prints over Rob’s clean floor, and mess in Jane’s spotless kitchen.  Before either of them could murder Duane, he scarpered back to his room and locked the door.  And there he remained until Wayne, Jane and Rob went to bed.  At some point in the night, Duane crept out.  He returned at around 4 in the morning with an unknown guest.  Music was played at full blast.
At 7 a.m. Jane got up and went to use the loo.  It was blocked.  She scribbled notes to Rob and Wayne, and pushed them under their doors.  Her message read Loo Out of Order.  She then took herself off to university.  Cross-legged.  When Rob surfaced at 8, he failed to see Jane’s note and blearily staggered off to the loo.  Unimpressed with the sight that greeted his eyes, he pressed the flush button.  And watched in horror as the water rose, and rose.  And then rose a bit more.  Just when it seemed as if the River Thames was about to surge out of the toilet, the water subsided.  But the contents within didn’t.

Rob banged on Duane’s door.  No answer.  He then walked into the kitchen to find a raided fridge, leftovers chucked at the bin – but not in it – and a sink full of vomit.  Rob returned to Duane’s door and threatened to kick it in.  But as he’s all huff and no puff, he instead stomped off to uni. 
Who needs to watch telly when there is drama unfolding in an East End dump of a flat?  Will Wayne, Jane and Rob ever break down the door to Duane’s bedroom?  Will they hunt Duane down by the wardrobe or under the bed?  Will they disembowel him to stop shock encounters with Duane’s bowels?  And, more importantly, who is going to unblock that loo?

Which reminds me.  What do you get if you cross a Goth with a toilet?  The Cisterns of Mercy...

1 comment:

  1. What next indeed? The mind boggles...(thought I would say that before anyone else did...)

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