Dirty Little Secret

I've never had much use for a plunger. I don't mean to brag or anything, but I've just had a smooth ride in the area of toilet upkeep for most of my adult life. Until yesterday, when something went terribly awry in the plumbing in apartment #4. Tragically, there was no plunger on the premises.

All day, I was faced with a terrible dilemma: go to the store to buy a plunger (but what if someone saw me?!), or borrow the neighbor's. After much deliberation, the first option seemed the least humiliating.

So, with much trepidation, I wheeled my cart into Vons tonight, determined to buy the embarrassing item. I tackled the non-toilet related items on my list first. Then, I hesitantly turned down the dreaded toilet aisle. I quickly scanned the aisle to ensure I wasn't being watched, and then hurriedly shoved the plunger bowl and its detached handle into my cart.

But wait. Something was terribly wrong. In dismay, I looked down at my little savior. It was bright blue. Bright blue! Who makes bright blue plungers?! What happened to the nice, subtle rust color I grew up with? This thing might as well have had a flashing neon sign announcing my dirty little secret back at home to fellow shoppers.

With a sigh, I arranged my other grocery items carefully around the plunger to form a shield, and snuck stealthily toward the cash register. When the coast was clear, I made a run for the most deserted check out stand and quickly pushed my plunger toward the cashier, anxious for her to immediately put it in a nice, large paper bag. No such luck. Instead, my jolly bagger took the detached plunger handle, tossed it up in the air, and began screwing it in to the plunger bowl. "I want to make sure you have all the parts to your plunger," he bellowed.

Mortified, I felt my face grow hot. I quickly paid, refusing to make eye contact with the suddenly attentive and, I'm sure, disgusted shoppers around me. I parked my cart outside, gathered up my bags of groceries and my unbagged, out-in-the-open, recently assembled plunger, and hopped into my car. I heaved a sigh of relief. I had survived the excursion. My dignity is, after all, still in tact. And so is my toilet.