Discussion
Imagine, dear readers, that you have been travelling for a few days in foreign climes. Probabaly not drinking quite enough water, so a little dehydrated. As a consequence you are somwhat constipated. Finally, after a couple of fruitless attempts at nondescript wayside restrooms, you spend a penny at your latest hotel and, after 15 minutes of straining, are rewarded by the evacuation of a log that would make a 500 year old oak look insignificant. Considerably relieved you stand back to admire your effort and flush. You watch with glee as the kon-tiki, the object of three days of discomfort, cicrcles the pan on its way to the oblivion of the local sewer...
But what?? Calamity!! It lodges firmly in the entrance to the U-bend and refuses to budge. A second flush does not move it. Repeated more frantic flushes appear to do little more than lodge the obstruction ever more firmly in the waste pipe and threaten to overflow the pan with a flood that will make global sea-level rise seem like a moderately damp day.
The question, dear PHers, is what course of action do you take?
(a) Ignore it and check out of your room pretending it was not you;
(b) Attacked the offending obstruction with the adjacent flexible shower head, having first turned the nozzle to 'jet wash';
(c) Use the plastic laundry bag thoughtfully provided by room service to cover your hand and remove the object, bag it and secretly hide it in the trash;
(d) Purloin a suitable piece of cutlery from the hotel restaurant, tie it to a coat hanger using a serviette, and hack the offender into pieces small enough to be handled by the obviously inadequate plumbing?
Answers on a postage stamp please.
But what?? Calamity!! It lodges firmly in the entrance to the U-bend and refuses to budge. A second flush does not move it. Repeated more frantic flushes appear to do little more than lodge the obstruction ever more firmly in the waste pipe and threaten to overflow the pan with a flood that will make global sea-level rise seem like a moderately damp day.
The question, dear PHers, is what course of action do you take?
(a) Ignore it and check out of your room pretending it was not you;
(b) Attacked the offending obstruction with the adjacent flexible shower head, having first turned the nozzle to 'jet wash';
(c) Use the plastic laundry bag thoughtfully provided by room service to cover your hand and remove the object, bag it and secretly hide it in the trash;
(d) Purloin a suitable piece of cutlery from the hotel restaurant, tie it to a coat hanger using a serviette, and hack the offender into pieces small enough to be handled by the obviously inadequate plumbing?
Answers on a postage stamp please.
All suggestions are greatly appreciated. However, due our stay covering a further day and a half choice (a) was never really a viable option. I am happy to report that we did find a solution though. Having thoroughly rehydrated, the OH and I were able to produce a couple of gallons of near concentrated nitric acid strength urine to act as an overnight marinade. This appears to have reduced the basalt-like consistency of the errant log to something more akin to that of a very well aged brie.
The question was, had there been enough leak-by during the night to accommodate the contents of the cistern in the bowl? I had no way of knowing, so it was with a certain amount of trepidation that I pressed the 'flush' button. I waited with bated breath as the water transferred form the tank to the bowl and was about to deploy the amassed towels mop up the impending spill when, with a mighty gurgle, the titanic turd moved, stopped, and moved again, eventually disappearing into the porcelain blackness to join the countless other similar deposits populating the sewers of Santiago.
I particularly liked the small flag suggestion and will carry a supply of these on further travels should such a future opportunity present itself.
The question was, had there been enough leak-by during the night to accommodate the contents of the cistern in the bowl? I had no way of knowing, so it was with a certain amount of trepidation that I pressed the 'flush' button. I waited with bated breath as the water transferred form the tank to the bowl and was about to deploy the amassed towels mop up the impending spill when, with a mighty gurgle, the titanic turd moved, stopped, and moved again, eventually disappearing into the porcelain blackness to join the countless other similar deposits populating the sewers of Santiago.
I particularly liked the small flag suggestion and will carry a supply of these on further travels should such a future opportunity present itself.
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