The plight of the purloined poop pole

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Home ownership has taught me and my husband many valuable lessons, not the least of which is the worth of the “poop-pole,” also known as a toilet auger.

When we first moved into our home in the wilds of Staten Island from the oh-so-civilized neighborhood of Gravesend, we had never experienced a backed-up toilet so resistant to a plunger that, once a week, a plumber had to make the damn toilet flush.

In fact, we had so many visits from Denny the Plumber that he began charging us discounted rates.

Denny’s visits persisted until we discovered the pole. Brother-in-law John was the first to introduce us to this marvel of the 21st century. After borrowing his brother’s several times, my husband and I took the plunge, so to speak, and invested in our own.

At the store, we examined the choices, — there were three — and after careful consideration, settled on the most expensive one. We figured that the costlier the pole, the longer it would last.

And it did.

Even with Denny’s discounts, the pole was worth its weight in unplugged pipes, paying for itself in the first month.

Discovering which paper was the least likely to clog the toilet — and a total renovation of our bathroom — resulted in us using the poop pole less and less, consigning it to sit forlornly on the back porch.

Which brings me to the present. Bri and I marched into the house the other night after a trip to the mall and desperately needed to use the loo — only to discover that the pipes were plugged and the bog was out of commission.

No need to panic, I reasoned — we had the pole.

I opened the back door and looked to the usual spot and noticed, to my horror, that our beloved pole was missing.

“Maybe we moved it?” I thought.

I grabbed the flash light, went into the back yard, and searched high and low for it, to no avail.

Yes, a pitiless poacher had purloined our poop pole, and now we had plugged up a pipe without a pole.

What could be done? In a flash I had the answer: Home Depot. It’s open 24/7, so I jumped into the car, raced to the store (I really had to go), reached the plumbing aisle in seconds, grabbed a replacement pole, ran to the check out counter and purchased it.

I raced across the parking lot, jumped back in the car and made it home with seconds to spare. I ripped off the covering, plunged the pole and unplugged the pipes. The awesome auger had done its magic and our pipes were unfettered and flowing anew.

Not for nothin™, my husband and I decided that we will never leave the poop pole in a poacher’s perilous path again; it will forever safely reside in the basement where we can keep a close eye on it.

Updated 3:07 pm, October 19, 2011
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