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The Good Guys Always Win

Started by mini, March 11, 2011, 08:19:12 PM

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mini

February 05, 2013, 07:43:46 PM #50 Last Edit: February 05, 2013, 08:00:43 PM by minnesota68
 :flush:

THE GLORY HALLELUJAH PLUNGER

This is one of those stories that you look back on and laugh, but at the time, you are embarrassed to speak of it.  Like the time you fell in love with your first crush just to find out that they were really your cousin.  Unless you are in Arkansas, in which case, its perfectly normal.

We had been having intermittent sewer problems for a few weeks.  You might do a load of laundry, and the sink would gurgle.  Or if you took a shower, it was slow to drain.  Or if you flushed the stool, the sink would let out a low moan and gurgle that made you think seriously about calling in a priest for a exorcism.

As alpha male, husband, father, and general flunky of the house, it fell on me to fix this problem.  After a week of no laundry being washed, my wife was headed towards anxiety meds.  I was headed for a encounter with being shot, so I decided to get motivated and fix this problem.

My first step was to buy a plunger.  We had a perfectly good plunger, but alas, my son decided the dog needed to be a unicorn, and chased the dog around the house one afternoon.  The dog developed a unhealthy hatred toward plungers, and one night attacked and destroyed our faithful plunger.
The store had replacement plungers for $4.99.  But as any good store will do, they had a display, surrounded by lights, bright colors, and a church choir singing the Hallelujah Chorus of this plunger contraption that was "guaranteed to unclog any toilet." 

I had to have it. 

And it was only $39.99. 

My wife looked at me, the plunger, the price, and repeated the process about 14 times.  I told her that 1) we needed one, and 2) it was guaranteed to unclog the drain.  She rolled her eyes, looked at her phone where she had stored the local plumbers phone number, and looked back at me. 

I assured her I could do it.

When we got home that afternoon, I took my super plunger out for a test run.  Immediately, I realized one plunge from that thing sent enough air out to knock a elephant flat at 900 yards.  If you accidentally had that thing down and it got a hold of your skin, it would leave a hickey that would make a pirate blush.   This was no amateur attempt at making a plunger.  A seriously demented plumber must have designed this thing.

One quarter of a plunge later, I had managed to shoot a four foot stream of water back out the shower drain.   

I decided right then, I needed to call in the big guns.  Namely, my dad.

My wife, in the bedroom at the moment, didn't see a thing.  If she had, she would have called the plumber.  But I knew my dad and I could handle it.

Dad is one of these jack of all trades who can fix anything.    I know, I should have called him first, but I was confident in my own abilities.  Now I knew I was out of my league.

In a few minutes he was at our house, and after walking him through the customary "this is what its doing when we do that", he asked if I had checked at the clean-out.  Of course, I hadn't.  That's why I called him.

Most modern sewers have a clean-out so that you can clean your pipes.  Clog under the house?  Roots in the pipe?  Open the clean-out, run a sewer sake, and clean it out.

We walked outside, next to the house, and started to unscrew the cap on the clean-out.

At that moment, unbeknownst to us, my wife walked into the bathroom, saw my new glory hallelujah plunger, and decided to give it a go.  So, with everything in her, and all 120 pounds of her 5' 4" frame, she gave it a plunge.

And at that exact moment, the sewer clean-out cap blew off.  It sent a gusher of sewer 40 feet up in the air, covering dad and me.  At least I think it was 40 foot high.  We were both knocked flat on our backs.  My first thought was old faithful, followed quickly by "Dear Lord, this is where I meet you."

I looked at dad, he looked at me, and we both stood staring at each other slack jawed, stunned, dripping wet, and smelling like you know what.

I humbly went to the front door and asked my wife to call the plumber.

Later that night, my wife mentioned trying the plunger out, and I realized what had happened.  I still haven't told dad.  Hes been telling his buddies about our sewer pressure, and they have been amazed. 

No use in ruining a good story with facts if you ask me.
DISCLAIMER: All rights reserved. Meant for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Not necessarily the view of this website. This supersedes all previous notices.

I wonder if we made a wax figure of Mini, and then melted it, if we'd get Roscoe... -MellerYeller

okieoliveoyl

you know..it isn't wise to read this post if you are at work.  About halfway through this you WILL get a call from a customer and it will take ALL of your power to not laugh at them on the phone.....

*leaves..and prints this out to pass around said work..*
Gods Promise: "This to shall pass"  not "and it came to stay"

The Purple Fuzzy


MelodyB

BOL!! That is amazing! Especially since I know EXACTLY what problems you had cause we have the same things happening lately. And now I know what that outside pipe thing is called. Clean-out. Nice.
Have you slapped that one dude from Indiana with a pie in the face today? [br /]  [IMG]http://i64.photobucket.com/albums/h181/MelodyB99/Other/duckie-2.gif[/img]

Roscoe

Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

mini

DISCLAIMER: All rights reserved. Meant for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Not necessarily the view of this website. This supersedes all previous notices.

I wonder if we made a wax figure of Mini, and then melted it, if we'd get Roscoe... -MellerYeller

mini

Rough draft...

To fully understand the implications of this story, I need to take you back several years to a Tuesday morning in spring. 

The previous evening had been one of those wonderful days where you feel alive, free, and ready to tackle the list of "honey-do's" that only a decently warm spring day after a long winter can bring.  And I had over done myself.  Yard work, branches hauled off, flowerbeds spruced up.  And this was after a full day of work.

So that Tuesday morning, I found myself looking at someone in the mirror who needed coffee, more sleep, and a few aspirin to quench the various aches and pains that had showed up during the night to remind me that I was not as young as I had once dreamed.

In that stupor, I accidentally knocked something off the shelf.

In a fully awake mode, the little guy who mans the reaction room inside my head monitors all activity.  If he had been fully awake, he would have hit a switch that turned on a reaction that sent a signal to my hand to attempt to grab it.

To both of our surprise, he didn't.  And before I could react, my hand snaked out, and caught the falling object in mid air.

That little man was given a award, patted on the back.

But I knew the truth.  And so did he.

Several times, in complete secrecy, we tested this.  I would knock something off, he would sit there, never flipping the switch to cause a reaction, and I would catch the object before it hit the counter.
In this, we developed a mutual agreement that he would let me be, and I reveled in my new found ability.

All went well for several years until this past week.

Working in a hospital, and un-medical as I am, I am as nervous as a yeller tomcat at a German shepherd convention.  And as you learn quickly at a hospital, not everyone who goes to a hospital comes out alive.  Working on the 6th floor, one wing had been developed into a hospice wing.

Tom O'Donnell and Mike Quinn were our two guys staffed in the mortuary.  Both are pretty nice guys, and both keep the business of death a quiet, somber and respectful time.

Until last week.

After a long, mentally exhausting day, I went to the elevator to ride down to the parking garage.  And at that exact moment, Mike Quinn came out of hospice pushing a bed.

With a figure under a sheet.

I froze.

The elevator opened.

He asked if I would help with the elevator buttons.

I fumbled a bit over my words, and something from the linguistics room jumbled together as a "Yes."

And so, I stepped into a elevator with a dead guy and a mortician.  Mike stood quietly at the foot of the bed, not saying much.  I stood near the head of the bed, next to the elevator buttons, trying not to think of the dead person just inches away.

The first two floors slipped silently away, when suddenly the sheet moved, and whoever was sitting there sat up and started to swing their feet over the side.

This was accompanied by a perfect horror movie zombie type groan.

As the sheet started to slip down off the head of this individual, somewhere in the halls of my mind, some little man in a reaction room hit the door running.

I believe he was yelling words that I normally don't associate with, but that fact is yet to be proven.

In a perfect slow motion picture, I watched my hand snake out, and realized the tension from the elevator ride had left me clenching my fist.

About the time the sheet slipped off the dead (or not so dead) guys head I realized that it was Tom O'Donnell, they were playing a joke on me, and unfortunately my hand was on the way to punch clean through whatever object stood in its way.

Somewhere between the 3rd and 2nd floor, I gave Tom O'Donnell a shiner that made him the stuff of legends around work for a few days.

And I have heard that when the mortuary transfers bodies, they block off the elevator now.
DISCLAIMER: All rights reserved. Meant for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Not necessarily the view of this website. This supersedes all previous notices.

I wonder if we made a wax figure of Mini, and then melted it, if we'd get Roscoe... -MellerYeller

MelodyB

Hahaha!!! Nice!


I can see how you were scared, but I have been in many elevators and many long car trips with dead bodies. Once you get used to it, it's not so creepy.
Have you slapped that one dude from Indiana with a pie in the face today? [br /]  [IMG]http://i64.photobucket.com/albums/h181/MelodyB99/Other/duckie-2.gif[/img]

Lynx

I hear when they transport dead bodies by air they take them to the jet in an unmarked van.  Which is considerate I think... imagine looking out the plane window and seeing a hearse pull up.  "Uh... stewardess I've changed my mind.  I think I'll take the bus."
"Do you sing at church?"[br /]"Yes I sing at church, I sing at home, at work, in the car, at the supermarket, at Wal-Mart..."[br /]:sing: :sing: :sing: :sing: :sing: :sing:

MelodyB

Our van was just a regular van with the seats removed. A Ford Areostar.
Have you slapped that one dude from Indiana with a pie in the face today? [br /]  [IMG]http://i64.photobucket.com/albums/h181/MelodyB99/Other/duckie-2.gif[/img]

MelodyB

Although...come to think of it, dad had landar bars on the side, so people did reconize it as a funeral transport. But I have seen some (just today actually) that look just like regular vans or SUVs. Tint the windows, take out the seats, put a piece of plywood on the floor and there ya go.
Have you slapped that one dude from Indiana with a pie in the face today? [br /]  [IMG]http://i64.photobucket.com/albums/h181/MelodyB99/Other/duckie-2.gif[/img]

mini

I shouldn't have read these at 6 am.  I was laughing and woke Chelleebelle up.
DISCLAIMER: All rights reserved. Meant for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Not necessarily the view of this website. This supersedes all previous notices.

I wonder if we made a wax figure of Mini, and then melted it, if we'd get Roscoe... -MellerYeller

Roscoe

Ain't it time for a new installment??
Potstirrer and snoop extraordinaire   "I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world."- Thomas Edison

Lynx

Those accordion plungers are great while they last. Mark Lowry was talking about picking one up and trying it out on a clog. He got a call from a neighbor three doors down, "Hey thanks! What kind of plunger was that?"

They don't hold up well over time though. After a year or so the plastic bends start cracking.
"Do you sing at church?"[br /]"Yes I sing at church, I sing at home, at work, in the car, at the supermarket, at Wal-Mart..."[br /]:sing: :sing: :sing: :sing: :sing: :sing:

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