Surviving Life With Your Gigantic Penis: Short Stories of Christopher Boden by Christopher Boden

Author:Christopher Boden [Boden, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-13T22:00:00+00:00

8

How I Got A Concussion Doing My Own Plumbing

Ever notice how expensive plumbers are? There’s a reason for that. Cheap labor isn’t skilled, and skilled labor isn’t cheap. They’re worth it. Let me tell you about one of my scars that constantly reminds me of this fact…

I was barely eighteen, and my weirdo friends and I had just rented a city block of downtown Grand Rapids, Michigan. It was 26,800 square feet of the most decrepit real estate in the industrial ghetto. It was an old, ugly, brick monstrosity that had a style all its own. We loved it.

We were also young, inept, and dangerously naive.

The last thing the landlord did after I signed my life away was point at a hatch just inside the front door and say “that’s where the main water valve is” as he jogged, giggling, to his car and got out of there as fast as possible.

The building had sat empty for well over a year, inhabited by a dozen homeless people who were burning barrels of trash for heat and using every nook and cranny as a toilet.

Don’t worry, they had used the toilets too. There were several of them scattered around the south end of the building across several floors. Every last one was a moldy heap of dried shit layered over a foot high above the seat-less rim.

How the fuck do you even DO that? I cannot imagine the thought process that leads someone to look at a toilet, with no water, no hope, and a bowl already full of a dozen other people’s shit and say “yeah, there’s room, I can do this”. I don’t know who you are, freakshow-champion-vaulting-shitter, but cheers to you mate.

I also knew that I would see you in hell before I was the one to clean those motherfucking toilets. I grew up in farm country, and I’ve mucked stalls with the best of ‘em. I’ve experienced the warm joy of having a deluge of cow shit sprayed down my back in a milking parlor. I’ve cleaned plenty of toilets before, but this was a whole new level of shitpocalypse. I don’t believe there’s any job that’s “beneath” me, but there was no way in hell I was going to clean those. If I had to handle it myself, I’d just bag and tag those fuckers and toss them wholesale in a dumpster.

But I also knew what it cost to replace one, and I had to find a cheaper way.

We had already run all the homeless guys out, so I had to do a little looking. It took perhaps five minutes. I found a little man in his 40’s sitting under the back loading dock. He was literally in his 40’s - he had a tiny fort of empty 40oz beer bottles that he had used to wall off the two open sides.

“Wanna make a couple bucks?” I asked, as I knelt down and caught a glimpse inside. If he wanted privacy, he shouldn’t have built a glass house.

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