When I was in Marrakesh, the riad my friend Paula and I stayed in was questionable. Awkward yet benign sexual harassment came with the breakfast of bad burnt bread, as did a decidedly non-western approach to customer service results. Any time we asked for something, it was met with: “Toilet paper? No. Big problem with my manager toilet paper situation.” “Big problem with my manager pillows.”
I woke up from a dream. All I could think upon waking up this fine Puebla morning is that I have big problems with my manager water situation. Amigos: be careful what you wish for, it may come true. I wanted water, and now I have it – all over the entire floor. Something grave happened with a ceramic piece, and thus an explosion occurred. There’s no easy way to say this: I’ve been peeing in the shower. Into the drain, like a Turkish slash Parisian bar toilet. My life is NOT average.
Addendum: A Few Hours Later
So my fairy godfather, C, P’s brother, is coming over to fix my bathroom. Among other repulsive things that have happened this morning – I decided to extricate everything from the toilet because I was embarrassed of what he would see if and when he comes to fix it, so a few minutes after waking up (and all this without coffee, mind you) I plastic bagged my hand and pulled all the gross toilet paper out of the toilet.
I then used a broken piece of plastic and then a soup spoon to scrape the rest of the contents out of the bowl so that he wouldn’t see it. Now, there’s an awful aroma EVERYWHERE, it only worked halfway, and on top of that I have to live the rest of my life knowing I did that terrible thing with various plastic entities. I really hope C’s a plumbing genius, because, en buen pedo, I don’t want to sit in the apartment smelling of doody water all day.
Addendum: A few more hours later
My toilet works. We shall pretend that whole ordeal never happened.