Upstairs Toilet Clogged | 720p |

In the background, he heard his father mutter, “Tell him to pour a bucket of hot water from chest height. Breaks up the jam.”

Then he opened a new browser tab and typed: “how to know if you have a septic tank or a city sewer.”

Leo Finch, a man who believed his biggest problem that morning would be deciding between oat or almond milk for his coffee, stared at the screen. He lived in the top floor of a converted Victorian house. He owned the top floor. The “upstairs toilet” was, unequivocally, his. upstairs toilet clogged

He hadn’t. The last time he’d used a plunger, he’d somehow managed to crack the porcelain of a toilet in his college dorm. He was asked never to return to that dorm.

He sprinted up the narrow staircase, past the dusty bannister he’d been meaning to varnish for three years, and into the bathroom. It was a small, tiled space that smelled of lavender and his own delusion of competence. The toilet bowl was full. Not overflowing onto the floor, no—that would be too honest a catastrophe. It was just… full. Still. Ominous. The water sat at the very brim, quivering slightly as if breathing. In the background, he heard his father mutter,

Leo panicked. He abandoned the plunger and lunged for the toilet’s water supply valve, the little silver button that could cut off the apocalypse. He twisted it. It spun freely. Rust flaked off in his palm. The valve had long ago surrendered its duty; it was just a decorative silver knob now.

“That’s for a slow drain! This is a hydraulic event !” Leo shouted, as a second rivulet joined the first, now snaking toward the bathmat. He owned the top floor

He inserted the plunger with the solemnity of a knight drawing Excalibur. He pushed down. Nothing. He pulled up. A thick, gluttonous glug echoed through the pipes, a sound less like a drain clearing and more like a stomach digesting something regrettable.