I managed to open the bathroom door while pinching the broken floater with the other hand. It seemed ludicrously unreal: I was in a foreign country, at a party in the apartment of a girl I’d recently met, with a couple of other friends, at four in the morning on Halloween night, and water had sprayed all over her bathroom cause I’d just broken the toilet and I didn’t know how to fix it.
“Uhh, il y a une problème.” “J’ai…j’ai fait quelque chose.”
The girl whose apartment we were in, whose toilet I broke, came into the bathroom. I explained what I’d done, the problem. She took over the floater pinching duty while I apologized profusely. Maybe she didn’t believe me, or just wanted to see for herself, or maybe my French was so crappy that she didn’t understand a damn thing I said, but she let go of the floater.
All four of the square bathroom’s walls got reblasted. Water rolled down the mirror above the sink. She kind of stood there for a second – we both did – taking it all in as the toilet drenched her. By the time the water began beading at the tips of her hair, she got her wits back and reached for the valve next to the toilet to cut off the water supply. That solved the pinching problem.
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2 comments:
That sounds like a nightmare. Are French toilets not built to accommodate American sized dumps?
Don't worry about missing the show, I didnt give you much notice. Richmond was beautiful though, I hope you're enjoying your tenure in Virginia.
Your uncle came to our show in Greenfield. He is a wonderful human being. I dont know when we'll be in the same place at the same time again, but I hope we figure it out soon. I miss you quite a bit sir.
nice piece of writing, spk. I felt for you, and for your hostess.
I like that Bob D. referred to me as "your uncle" with no other identifier, and I am honored by his opinion.
I miss you, too, mon nevieu.
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