10.27.07

lavatory |_lav__tôr_| |_løv__t_ri| |_lav_t(_)ri|
noun ( pl. -ries)
a room or compartment with a toilet and washbasin; a bathroom.
• a sink or washbasin in a bathroom.
• Brit. a flush toilet.

ORIGIN late Middle English : from late Latin lavatorium ‘place for washing,’ from Latin lavare ‘to wash.’ The word originally denoted something in which to wash, such as a bath or piscina, later (mid 17th cent.) a room with washing facilities; the current sense dates from the 19th cent.

The art of the bathroom. As Andy put it, “You know how when you go into the bathroom there is the obvious knowledge that it’s a place where bathroom things happen, but every ‘bathroom like’ thing that does happen goes to this magical place? It’s seems as though our magical place isn’t that far away from our actual bathroom. I think that place might be right outside the bathroom door as a matter of fact and that’s not all that magical now is it?”

This is true. . Our bathroom smells like a bathroom with a non-magical place very near by. Our bathroom looks like a bathroom dug into the earth by small Mexican toothpicks. Our bathroom sounds like a bathroom that exists at the bottom of a wishing well. However there no scary spiders waiting to eat your curds and whey, the water spins clockwise inside our super white toilet bowl and we can even brush our teeth with water that spills out the ancient furnace piping, Asian oddly enough, that’s been renamed a faucet. Although we thoroughly, let me rephrase that; although Andy thoroughly cleans the bathroom every Sunday, it is still just a bathroom with a very non-magical place OBVIOUSLY nearby.

Okay. We have covered mostly everything: the toilet, the sink, the magical place. Ohhhhh. That’s right. There is one place we have not touched on yet. That would be the shower. Let me begin by stating that taking a shower pisses me off. I have come to hate the shower. I think I would rather lay down on the front steps amongst all the things with more than 2 legs and let Andy spit water through a straw on me than take a God-forsaken shower.

Our shower looks like a normal shower. The belly of the shower squeaks when you stroke it, like a good clean shower should. It regurgitates water through many holes at the end of a nozzle, although the nozzle is attached to a hose attached to the faucet which that in itself causes problems that will be addressed later. Below the faucet sits the mouth whose job is to swallow the fallen water in a timely manner, all quite typical of an adequate functioning shower.

“So,” one might ask, “what is the problem exactly?” To answer this question one must follow with yet another question. “What provides heat to the otherwise cold water?” This question is only answered after further investigation of the mystery closet off the kitchen; the mystery closet that mysteriously floods with tan, cloudy ground water approximately four and three quarter days a week. Rather than a giant metal tank that holds a specific number of gallons of water, the ancient Asian furnace piping that carries the water to the bathroom winds through a “caliente tunnel.” Inside the tunnel is a small Asian; yes I mentioned this was quite odd origin earlier, furnace. The furnace burns the water to a boil as it passes through to the bathroom.

Now, for the first nine days of our “Viva de Mexico” experience the furnace failed to ignite. Two non-English speaking plumbers eventually stopped by after happy hour one late afternoon. With a wrench in one hand and a red can of Tecate’ in the other the more sober plumber entered the mystery closet. After what sounded like some sort of shady business deal, which seemed abnormal to be coming from inside the mystery closet with just a drunk plumber and a flooded cement floor, the man emerged with an empty can of Tecate’, a giant smile and an apparent resolution to the “no hot water” situation. Following a strenuous round of charades and a few Spanglish exchanges we were able to interpret the details surrounding the problem. In order to get the furnace in the mood the hot water knob, which is located on the right rather than the left, must be completely open. The furnace requires strong water pressure to ignite. The less sober plumber stumbled towards the bathroom while I followed the other one into the mystery closet.

“Bueno!” the voice screeched from inside the shower. Sure as shit, behind the furnace door I spied 7 tiny Mexicans with 7 tiny mustaches and sombreros singing, dancing and shoveling coal into the inferno using 7 tiny shovels. Drunky tossed them 10 pesos then quickly clasped the door shut. I could hardly contain the excitement of a hot shower, hot enough to melt away 9 days of obscenity from my skin. As Andy escorted drunk one and drunk two out the front door, I sprinted towards the bathroom leaving my clothes behind like breadcrumbs.

“All the way to the left,” I thought to myself as I turned the knob with my fingers. After switching the flow from down below to up above I stretched the curtain wide. Curled toes first I climbed into the tub.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!!!” I screamed as my chest skin slid down my front, getting trapped between my big toe and second toe. I tried reaching for the valve to cut the showerhead off but shards of fire beat against eyelids and cheeks. I sacrificed my left leg extending it outward towards the valve quickly switching the flow to the faucet. Gallons of boiling water gushed out the nose spilling over the mouth. I fumbled over the hot and turned it all the way to the right. Relief followed by breathing. I watched as the last toboggan of skin slid over the mouth and down the throat. I tried again. Turned the hot all the way to the left. This time I turned the cold knob just a hair to the right, switched the lever and stood under the nozzle.

“Ahhhhh, that’s more like it,” I said to the shower curtain. I squeezed a dollop of shampoo into the palm of my hand then transferred it to my head. Eyes closed, back to the water, I began messaging my scalp. Just as the bubbles started multiplying I felt a change happening along my spine. In extreme water temperature situations it’s sometimes difficult to decipher the difference between ice and fire, there is a moment when they disguise themselves as the other. My back began smoking, thick steam began billowing and new curse words began forming. I had no idea which way to turn, it was everywhere. Whistling screams flew out my voice box as I blindly fumbled over the knob. I managed to flip the lever. Now, just lava. Red, hot, molten, Mexican lava was pouring out of my faucet. I tried to reach for the hot knob but the trail of lava was just moving too quickly. I straddled myself above the volcanic river below. My right leg, bent and shaky, was the more stable of the two balancing itself above my well-placed foot. The left was a bit trickier. I managed to fit just 3 toes along the plastic ridge, the other two left to fend for themselves. Then a horrible thought entered my brain.

“If I fall, the first body part to submerge itself will be my vagina. If my vagina enters the lava it is possible that a very important part of it could just melt right off. Oh God! For the love of God, please don’t let me fall!”

I could feel liquid running down my face. Unfortunately the liquid was shampoo overflow. Of course the overflow ran right into my eye forcing it closed. With only one eye open, legs stretched across the tub, vagina shuttering with fear I reached forward. It worked. The water stopped, lava floated over the mouth and down the throat. I carefully balanced myself on my hands and slowly lowered my feet. I had to turn the water on again. I couldn’t leave the lather on my head or the filth in my pores.

I turned the hot, this time a little more cold, switched the lever and under the nozzle I went. The temperature this time was perfect. I rinsed the suds from what hair I had left on my head and then reached for my sponge and soap. I could feel the water’s temperature rising. I quickly tuned the cold knob to the left.

“Fewwww,” I thought, avoiding yet another scalding. Forty-eight seconds past before I felt yet another temperature change. This time it plummeted to the opposite extreme. I barely had time to wash a thigh and calf before the goose bumps invaded my outsides. The cold was real cold, but felt even that colder considering I had second-degree burns on three quarters of my body. I tried turning the knob all the way back to the right but that only made the cold even colder. I switched the level, closed all the knobs and repeated again. Hot all the way to the left, cold 2 turns to the left, twist the lever and get under the nozzle, perfect water for forty-eight seconds, water develops a rising fever, adjust the cold, snowflakes float out the spigot, repeat. I managed to tolerate lightless game of My Simon for five rounds before getting so frustrated that I just gave up. I let it win. Pissed off I turned all the knobs to the right, this time with some force. The force jostled the nozzle head lose sending downward, cracking me right in the forehead.

“I hate you!” I said grabbing the lime green towel.

“No you don’t,” Andy said coming into the bathroom.

“Not you. The shower. You wait,” I snarled shoving him out of my way. “See how much fun you have taking a shower. I’m never taking one again. Fuck the shower, it fucking sucks.”