Everybody’s Got Talent

by Tom Swift

I don’t do many things well, especially domestically, but one thing I have come to count on about myself is the ability to get out of jam.

A specific sort of jam, I mean.

What I am saying is that I can unplug me a toilet.

‘Twas not always so. I don’t mind admitting that for years, many years, I could not be counted among the ranks of plunge-worthy men. As a de-clogger I was merely, um, cough, passable.

While I was a mere novice when it came to applying the working end of a plunger, unfortunately, what I was good at was the plugging.

And so I would get nervous when the water started to slow. I would cuss under my breath. And maybe a little out loud. When faced with the prospect of a non-functioning toilet it is a choice time to use the S-word. I tried with all my might and, I shall confess: I even resorted to chemicals.

Now? Now the bowl is my domain. I don’t even sweat it. I just know. I know I’m gonna get it to go.

Take the other night, for example. Encountered a stubborn son of gun. One of those times when the water starts down but then stops. Seemed like we were all clear, then nope. I whipped out the baking soda. I poured in the white vinegar. I waited twenty minutes, twenty five maybe. You don’t need a timer when you are a pro. I doused the pool with some hot water, straight from the stove.

Usually. I do not have to go to such lengths. Usually, I just need the right amount of water — enough to crests an unstoppable force, but not so much I make a mess.

You know how some people can look at a wave and know how it’s going to break?

Mozart was born to make music.

Michael Jordan was put on this earth to play basketball.

I can unplug my toilet.