Death By Drano

The kitchen sink saga continues. As some of you may remember, or not, I won’t hold it against you, I had to get a whole new kitchen sink and new piping underneath this past spring. A small tragedy considering my sink leaked for close to 24 hours, 3 plumbers spent eight hours showing me their cracks, and I am still, months later, adjusting to the almost, but not quite, identical new sink. A few days ago my sink began taking FOREVER to drain. Plumbing in my building kind of sucks so I bought some Drano and expected things to get better. Not so much. A day later the sink filled with water that decided it was not going down the drain life intended it to go down. Not even after I poured the remainder of the Drano into the sink. Drano when left to sit in water creates a very interesting shade of yellow, in case you were wondering. So, another call to the super with the worst cell phone reception on earth and only marginally better English was put in. It only took being disconnected 3 times, one voicemail, and one quasi-coherent connection post voicemail to get him to send someone up to my apartment.

The phone call was truly only quasi coherent as one of the maintenance guys busted through my door with a plunger in one hand and made a straight beeline for the bathroom. “Kitchen,” I said none too thrilled. Was he going to plunge my sink that was currently filled with water? He puts in a call to the super and starts yelling, “Cocina!” For all of you who do not remember your high school Spanish, cocina means kitchen. I then see him grab one of my spoons and stick it in the dirty dishwater that has been stagnating with Drano for the past few hours to scrape it along the drain. Alarms start going off in my head. He is sticking one of my spoons, a utensil I put in my mouth, into water that has a substance that is clearly marked as a poison on the bottle! There are warnings listed in big, bolded, red letters in three different languages on the back of the bottle and this imbecile (an imbecile who will eventually clear my drain and return my life back to normal) is sticking one of my spoons in it! I jump out of my seat and start telling him he cannot use my spoon, there is Drano in there. I’m sure he understands nothing of what I am saying as his English is worse than the super’s, but he gets that his current action of using my spoon to test the drain has caused me to practically tackle him to the floor and he quickly retreats. Can I use that spoon again? I can’t, right? I mean, I can’t even clean it with my regular dish brush without risking certain death. I would need the poison control center on speed dial, with my phone in my hand, and my finger poised to dial as I was putting that spoon into my mouth, even after a vigorous cleaning. Right? Am I over reacting? Am I crazy? I have a right to be pissed that my small spoon set is now comprised of three spoons as opposed to four…don’t I? Aren’t you glad you do not live in my head, or even in my apartment with me?

After emptying out the cabinets under the sink and the huge cabinet next to the sink…this is big, 60% of my kitchen supplies reside in that huge cabinet next to the sink, lots of loud drain snaking ensued. I was a little ticked by the emptying of the cabinets to get to the drain. I was also a little excited by the prospect of being forced to finally reorganize that huge cabinet that had become a black hole of cookie sheets, cutting boards, pots, pans, mixing bowls, and other random kitchen stuff. I was still very ticked by the loss of my spoon. I was also very concerned with keeping an eye on it so I would know exactly where it was at all times and not accidentally eat my breakfast cereal from it the following morning. I do not want to die by Drano poisoning. Nor do I wish to be poisoned just enough to poop and puke my guts out for days on end, but not actually die from the torment.


About djunapassman

I teach yoga, write, and edit. I live in a Brooklyn neighborhood that is changing faster than I can, or care to, keep up with. Manhattan still beckons me to her island a few subways stops away, reminding me of when I lived amongst her daily hustle and bustle.
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