argus

Somebody, somehow, keeps clogging up the toilets here at work.

Now, as you recoil in horror at that thought and wonder why I would be so childish as to stoop to “potty-topics”, let me explain why I think this is blog-worthy. I do actually have some engineering thoughts on the whole thing. But getting there requires a bit of context.

The utilities in the dormitories on the campus of my college days are, in a word, legendary. With very few exceptions, all of the past residents that I have spoken to had at least one memory, if not several, of the extremes at which these fixtures performed. Water pressure from shower heads approaching that necessary to split skin. Hot water available at temperatures high enough to hard-boil eggs, right out of the tap. And toilets… well, lets just say it wasn’t advisable to let any small children use one without close adult supervision, lest the poor tyke lose a shirt or a limb.

To say that I was spoiled by these accomodations would be an understatement. Is the shower dirty? No problem! Simply turn it on full-blast-hot and duck out the door before losing an arm or a patch of particularly visible skin! Toilet dirty? No worries! Spray some 409 in the bowl, count to 30, and flush that puppy! No more …anything! Woohoo! There was no such thing as “using up the hot water”, no “flush effect” in the shower water temperature.

It goes without being said that clogging one of those industrial wind-tunnel toilets was something of a mythical occurrence …at least to us males, as we were well aware of their imperviousness to well nigh anything this side of a 7.0 magnitude temblor. Mythical enough that a toilet-clogging was referred to as An Event, A Clogging, in such a way that you could hear the capitals when the storyteller spoke. Usually rumors of Cloggings were accompanied with horrific stories of mortal disfigurement, much to the terrified enjoyment of the wide-eyed cogs in the rumor mill. But every so often a story would come down the pipe, so to speak, of a Clogging that was believable. The Atlases that supposedly perpetrated such a feat were revered in a faintly misty-eyed manner, in a “I saw them one time, passing in front of the bookstore” manner, in much the same way that I imagine gladiators were revered in ancient Rome, or the way Fat Albert is revered by small children today.

Having said all that, I bring you back to the present: my place of employment is on this same college campus and, as such, is graced with the same industrial-grade, child-devouring toilets that the dorms are. Yet, somehow, remarkably, I’m surrounded by middle-aged Atlases incognito — men who would have no doubt scoffed at these ravings about the vaunted Cloggings of my college heyday. They move anonymous among us here, never claiming their victory in a public forum, merely vanquishing their foe in solitude and then meekly melting back into the sea of code-tossed humanity. And so help me, it happens at least once a week: a toilet meets its match, and a stall is locked from the inside, as if the janitorial engineers have opted to allow that space ample time and peace to consider the havoc that hath been wrought within. And I can, sadly, only speak to the frequency with which the men’s rest facilities are thusly afflicted; I have as yet to find a female sojourner willing to keep me tuned in to the daily working order of the women’s WC.

Now, for that engineering perspective: what on EARTH could stopper these toilets?! Mechanical engineers, send me your hypotheses! And no (lest I get inundated with such trivial suggested solutions as “a large enough quantity of restroom paper could accomplish the task”), rest assured that both the extreme flimsiness of said paper combined with the jet-engine-blast flushing force of these fixtures all but nullifies that prospect. Unless, of course, employees are smuggling in their own contraband TP that is much thicker than our Standard Issue (there are faint rumors of a stash of two-ply on the 5th floor). I sincerely hope not; clearances have been revoked for less.

A part of me wants to call out for a science experiment, a science project, a Congressional hearing, something — some sort of methodical testing on a representative sample toilet, to determine if there is indeed a mechanical flaw in their makeup. Is there some invisible-to-the-casual-examination difference that renders them impotent, as the dorm fixtures are not? If so, justice must be done! We, the tireless toilers for our great state, deserve only the finest industrial grade toilets that our hard-earned tax dollars can buy! How insufferably cruel of my collegiate alma mater to give me two years of free-flushing emancipation — only to relegate me, upon achieving gainful employment, to the mundane ordinariness of hoping someone with a plunger has been made privy to the poor plight of the porcelain abusee?

If the answer is simply that which it seems it cannot — should not — be, then may the Lord have mercy on these poor souls. If indeed the thwarted bowls are the result of purely …natural processes, then my heart goes out to them. May they find some comfort, rest, and peace. And may they please use the john on a different floor.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, November 23rd, 2004 at 12:04:44 am and is filed under Foam, WTF. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.