Free Flowing

I am doing a little dance because after two days of clogged mess, my tub drain is working again without retching up chunks of black.  If I ran water in the bathroom sink, it backed up, if the guy next door took a shower, it backed up, bringing select, viscous clods of black matter.  This was a sudden affliction, there was no slowing or gradual clog, I just heard a gurgle and backwater was coming in like a hell tide.

After just going through this in the kitchen last week, I have learned not to get the Drano that flashes the "Commercial Strength" logo or the word "Guaranteed".  I'm not driving back to the hardware for a $9.00 refund when it costs me near five dollars in gas and time to get there.  That stuff doesn't work, in the past I have poured bottles of it down the drain for one big reason.  Hope.  Hope that it provides resolution and be done with it, because the one true way to clear a stubborn drain is with a homicidal dose of sulphuric acid.  If you've ever read the warnings on the bottle, you make arrangements for who will take care of the cats after your demise.

The font is in red, and yells, WARNING: MAY CAUSE SEVERE BURNS OR DEATH.  The bottle is plastic and contained within a separate, ziploc bag for storage after, so nothing made of meat, including you, comes in contact with spillage.  It can burn a hole through a hand and the label advises in a serious tone heard in documentaries narrated by Calvinists that you should hold the bottle at arm's length while pouring it into the water supply.  I searched for the industrial goggles I wear when dealing with power tools, couldn't find them, so I grabbed my plastic rhinestone sunglasses.  Check.  Put on the elbow length rubber gloves from the kitchen, buttoned up every button on my shirt and tucked sleeves into the tops of the gloves.  Got a box of baking soda to neutralize accidents, of which I wasn't going to have any.

Had to chase the cats out of the bathroom, opened a window and poured approximately a cup of acid into the abyss.  The bottle also mentioned that once the product was out in the open and down the drain, a bowl or a bucket should be inverted over the opening in case of eruption.  What?  A miasma of fumes emitted up from the drain, with hissing and internal bubbling sounds echoing through the Stygian pipes; I covered it with a bucket, and then it erupted.

Scads of black bubbles roiled like a geyser from the seventh circle of hell and began to fill the tub;  if blood and fire had begun to rain down from the bathroom ceiling, I wouldn't have been surprised.  See?  Messing around with dangerous chemicals attracts trouble and plague said my mother when my chemistry set filled the house with noxious gases.  Well I wasn't messing, this was serious business and  besides, my Mom was frightened of mustard, for heaven's sake.  The phone book touted mustard as a useful emetic and it killed ants.  Proof enough for her; don't put too much on your sandwich, it could kill you.

The acidic froth billowed out from under the bucket and covered the bottom of the tub before subsiding.  Black.  Hissing.  Ebbing and flowing as if it had breath.  Yikes, I thought and imagined if it continued, if some neighbor decided to pull the plug on their nightly bath, would it then find a path into the community drain via Apartment 9?  Overflow the tub?  Dissolve the cats?  Checking to make sure the gloves and goggles were secure, I grabbed the box of baking soda and mixed a solution in the sink.  The wicked foam was finding it's way back down into the depths of the pipes, and after the last vestige of liquid disappeared, I poured a cup of the solution into the drain, just like it said to do if you were in the State of California, for neutralization.

Oh, that was fun.  Another flume of water and acid sluiced up, bubbling like we had hit oil.  Brown, this time; viscous; was this progress?  Again the tub was filled with an inch of death, again I waited it out until the fluid slunk back into the mystery of city apartment drains.  C'mon, c'mon, I gotta get to bed; but by that thought I recognized my usual turning point where I would have said the hell with it and poured the whole bottle down the pipes, closed the door and went to bed.  Perhaps age brings sanity and patience, for as appealing as this was, being dog-tired and having driven home in the rain, at night, with my eyes dilated from an exam, impatience was pushed aside, and prudence sat down and smoothed her apron.  I actually have an Aunt Prudence in the family history.  By her looks, she could have taken on a bear.  This was a drain.  Calm down, girl.

After the tub emptied again, I spent time being fascinated with sprinkling sodium bicarbonate directly into the drain and getting the hissing going again.  As long as there was a reaction, there was still acid that required neutralizing.  But heat, wasn't heat being produced, could it explode the pipes, and what if this backed up into another local tub?  Would I have melted someone's toes while they were showering?  It was scientifically exciting until the baking soda ran out.  Time had passed for the required remedy to be achieved, and so I tried flushing the drain with cold water.  Har de har.  Nope.  More sludge, more foam, more chunks of black.  That went down and then without me doing anything further, the tub filled with yellow liquid.  Clear yellow.  Like urine.  Now what?   I had had enough science and scary chemicals for the evening, and so closed the door to the bathroom and went to bed.

Morning.  All ablutions and fussing were carried out at the kitchen sink, I put my contacts in by looking at my reflection in the microwave door.  Before heading out to children, it made sense to do a test run to see if water would successfully vortex down and out the pipes.  Nope.  More resistance like a relative that won't go home, fingers dug into the door frame.  Well, something to look forward to after work, the whole bottle of murder will go down next; I can only hope that the Water Station has the wherewithal to handle corrosives in city sewers.  Hm, need more baking soda.

That late afternoon, there were no new clots of black slime mapping out a history of further backwashes; the tub was clear.  Uhhhh, okay, let's go slow.  First a cup of water, another, another, turn on the faucet, it's running, turn on the tub and wow!  Done!  It's gurgling like a spring brook!  Unknown whether the drain cleaner did the deed, or if maintenance kicked in from another tenant calling in a complaint.  The bottle of miracles and peril is now in the ziploc bag, in another plastic bag, in another plastic bag; three plastic bags ought to do it, don't you think?

I scrubbed out the tub with a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser (it's melamine, folks; no magic), and Googled "sulphuric acid".  It's the most important chemical in the world, and is used in manufacturing almost everything.  I found a recipe for making your own.  Geez.  No thanks; says to boil it down on an outside barbeque grill.  Are they nuts?

But now I'm content, one more piece is back in place besides my pupils returning to normal size; that was freaky, looking at myself in the mirror with those immense black holes staring back.  I scared me a bit.  Fit perfectly with the sulfuric fumes, all I needed was a pitchfork.

Sleep well tonight, dream of solutions and flow, structure and plans.  The planets spin and stars wheel through the celestial vault, while our Northern Hemisphere falls quiet with the early lowering of the sun.  You have earned your rest, all will be well.  Good night.