My good-natured but ditsy as Hell roommate panicked about my property manager's name. I spent more time than I would've preferred to explain that his name started with the letter E, although it's quite possible that she had spelled it with an A because that's how she believed it was spelled. She kept insisting that his name starts with A, but she resisted in checking under A because I said it's spelled with an E. Then her slutty nature proved to be inconvenient as she wasn't sure which Edmin she should call. How ironic that her slutty nature was such an interference.
When our racist, sexist, demeaning, condescending, arrogant but albeit responsive property manager showed up, he wouldn't accept that it just over flooded. He went on to tell us that we can open up to him and admit what we threw in there because he's heard it all including an orange, perfume bottles, and even lingerie. WTF? The three of us girls were giggling and condescending joking that it was an orange. I mentioned that if it was a tangerine, it's definitely my fault.
A man who won't listen even though he's dying for us to tell him something isn't going to be receptive to the reality that it just over flooded. It happens. After taking the condescending approach unsuccessfully, he regrouped and reassured my ditsy roommate that he wasn't blaming anyone and compared his philosophy to how important it is to know the root cause similarly to how doctors have to know in order to figure out the best treatment. The plumber was trying to explain that nothing was dropped in; things like this just happen. But the property manager ignored the expert's opinion and retorted to let him talk. The plumber argues back that my ditsy roommate doesn't even know what he's talking about. She understandably took offense to it because it's obvious that English is her second language. I don't think he meant to be insulting. I think he was trying to express that we don't know enough about toilets to properly explain what happened. It was just an interesting experience as three people communicated with difficulties, while my other roommate and I were making dirty jokes.
As I was cleaning the over flooded toilet, it made me think of my own life. My life is like an over flooding toilet, clogged and overspilling with crap that's just all over the place, messy, not in its own place, and just spread around where it's not wanted, unconfined but also trapped. I obviously don't want to be in that situation, but I feel helpless and cleaning up after it is an unfavorable chore. Even after wiping and drying, my efforts appear unnoticed. I'm stuck there, and it consumes so much of my time and energy. I'd rather be somewhere else, doing something else.