Sapphic Voices Humour

Flush

by Mary Dawn
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Copyright © by Mary Dawn 2007

Let me begin by saying that I am a person with a keen sense of humor. I recognize that life presents us with bizarre circumstances we cannot begin to manage, or contemplate without laughing at ourselves or at others.

So when I flushed my business cell phone down the toilet at Sam's Club, it is reasonable to conclude that I laughed my ass off right there in the stainless steel cubicle, dabbing at my mirthful tears with toilet paper, holding my shaking gut. I'm ashamed to admit my lighthearted approach to catastrophic situations does not always extend to events I am experiencing first hand.

I will tell you that for the first time in my 37 years I actually pinched myself. Was I hallucinating? Did my cell phone take a suicidal leap from its holster, secured to the waistband of my scrub pants under my sweater, and dive strategically into the in progress flush of the automatic toilet? Was I standing fully clothed, with my arm belatedly stretched out before me, dripping wet from being placed in a public toilet? Had I really, really, put my hand in the toilet's drain and tried to fish out a phone I desperately hoped was lodged in the drain, like a big turd that might cause the toilet to overflow? Oh yes, you bet you! I pinched my soiled arm with the clean fingers of the other hand, and it hurt.

The truly frustrating thing about the situation I found myself in is was this... I had a premonition not two seconds before placing the seat protector on the suspect automatic flush toilet, that perhaps my phone could fall in. Tired from a long day of marathon massages, I did not heed my internal alarm. I don't even carry the darned thing with me normally - but me and my girlfriend in Sam's at the same time dictated that I wore it. I have been told I have a tendency to walk off, especially when she is loading the cart to full capacity. She only gets that chance twice a year, so why were we there in the first place? Well, to flush my phone down the toilet, the universe's unique plan for me at that particular hour. Well, that and the fact that I still had to pee. I'd not even had the chance to get my butt on the paper cover before the cell phone decided to join it on their joint quest to the waste treatment plant. Bon Voyage!

Not wanting to add my bodily waste on top of my phone, and hoping for some sort of rescue - I noted the stall number for the scene of the crime, washed my paws and cell phone holster, then found another stall to finish my business. I didn't want to leave the room in case someone else came in to defecate on my absent phone.

On the way to find my beloved, I explained my plight to the manager - who just happened to be passing by the restroom. She informed me that large items routinely disappear in the colossal automatic flush of their toilets - large key rings most often, my phone is a first. I am advised to leave my name and number at the service desk just in case it appears - but no drastic action is offered. The phone is gone.

In despair, I wandered down the aisles looking for Sue. She was busy packing our cart with Lysol wipes, two tubs of washing powder, fabric softener, and Oxy Clean. She was having a good time.

'You won't believe what just happened." I said, trying to look dejected - which was not hard. I was upset and didn't know what to do. I told her about the horrible, just f-ing unbelievable event. Sue smiled, stifling her true reaction. I gave her a warning look , the one that says "this is not funny, sister, not not not funny." She immediately demanded that I show her the scene of the crime - she just had to see for herself how my big, fat, low tech phone went to Graceland.

Sue officially agreed that the phone was indeed gone. She could see by my demeanor that I was ready to go. Instead of cancelling her spree, I advised her to carry on. She protested that we could just leave because she knew I was upset. I told her I would amuse myself and settle down while she finished. I still had to report the incident to the service department anyway. At the service desk, I advised the young man of what transpired. He smiled broadly and offered me a sheet of blank paper to write the following words: Phone flushed in toilet stall 4 - my name - my phone number.

I spent the rest of my time in the book section reading snippets of a book about the brother of the child called It, and his abuse. The news blaring on the televisions for sale was full of death counts for those killed in the tsunami. The telephone incident began to lose its sting. I admitted that this bad thing was not the baddest thing ever.

I heard my name on the overhead speaker, and went to the check- out counter , irritated with the loss of my phone , but glad Sue was ready to go. We packed the car. She showed me how to check the messages from my absent phone - sure enough, no bubbles or gurgles - just my earnest voice in cellular land urging callers to leave a message. Sue started to giggle as we pulled out into traffic, an infectious sound that quickly left her gasping, crying and coughing. Her convulsion of mirth almost ran us off the road. I protested that the event was not an opportunity for hysterics. I was still hurt, but could not deny the tears that leaked out of my own eyes - sure enough, we were both howling with laughter.

Sue was a gem. She apologized for laughing, and promised to help me get a better cell phone plan - find a replacement phone. I am know known by her IT colleagues as, The Phone Flusher.

If you have enjoyed Mary Dawn's "Flush", then please be certain to Contact The Writer and thank her for posting this Story.

Click here for a list of all of Mary Dawn's Stories and Poetry at Sapphic Voices Authoresses.

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