There’s really nothing worse than an ugly toilet. Okay, there’s lots of worse things. Anyhow, this toilet had to go. It’s been hanging out in my down-to-the-studs workspace, begging to be smashed by mistake. Sadly, it’s a “Toto”, so this wart is worth about six hundred bucks. My master plan is to make a gift of it to my plumber (and friend) who is the kind of guy who would really value a six hundred dollar shitter.
I’ve been waiting for him to pick it up for 6 weeks - I call him every week or so. Today, they were scheduled to tear off my front stairs, so it really was time. I called Ralph to let him know that it was now or never, and he suggested that we leave it on the sidewalk and he’d pick it up later in the day (Side story: NEVER do this in the ghetto. I leave the results the reader’s imagination).
So, I ask the one of the stairs-demolishing laborers. His English is worse than my Spanish, but he’d far rather carry half a toilet than smash through 8″ of stair-crete. He takes one end, I take the other. When we get to the stairs, the top two steps are already history. During my puzzled pause (How the hell am I going to get this hundred pound pooper down the non-stairs?) he says, “No problemo” - takes the toilet, and heaves it onto the sidewalk.
I called Ralph to let him know that his toilet had died of a translation error.