I think we can all safely agree it’s a good thing toilets can’t talk. A very good thing.

And this isn’t going where you think it is….

I live in a small New England city. And for such a small city, we have an amazingly large amount of sticky red tape to snip snip through to get anything done. Just try having a church picnic in a local park. You’ll have to go in person to about ten million city offices, fill out a bajillion forms. Yeah. And you still might not get the green light.

If Toilets Could Talk by allie taylor

A friend of mine was telling me a funny story that happened in our fair city last week. Truth is stranger than fiction. Made me laugh. You’re gonna laugh too.

(I know, I know. You’ll be the judge of that.)

So my friend and her family are selling the home they’ve lived in for decades now over on Chestnut Street. The house is up on the market, some work needs to be done to get it up to snuff. Among other things, a toilet needs to be replaced. Yeah, the main character of this story is a commode. And If Toilets Could Talk, it might tell you this story. But it can’t. So I will. (It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.)

So this particular john (my apologies if your name is john) served the family faithfully for many years, and now it was time to be replaced. The plumber put it out on the curb, and my friend needed to dispose of it before the upcoming open house on the weekend. She calls the recycling department in the city. And here’s a little sticky red tape for you. They tell her she has to come in person to the recycling department, make an appointment for the toilet to be picked up by city recycling. Pay a $25 fee. Off she goes downtown to the city recycling department to snip snip. Snip snip.

She intends to make the appointment and pay up. But they can’t fit in her in the schedule for a few weeks. This is a real problem with the upcoming open house on the weekend and toilet out front. She decides not to pay the fee, and drives home to figure out a different solution to dispose of the old toilet.

She gets home, and the commode is no longer on the curb. Vanished. She goes inside, asks her daughter the whereabouts of the toilet.

“You’ll never believe what happened,” says her daughter.

“There was a knock on the door about a half hour ago and it was a man from the city recycling department.”

He says, “M’aam, I’m so sorry, but we were doing a pick-up across the street, turned our truck around in front of your house, didn’t see your toilet there. I feel terrible, so sorry. But we ran over it, smashed it. Again, so sorry. You ok if we clean up the mess, dispose of it for you?”

Her daughter, wide eyed, sees the toilet on the street, smashed to smithereens.

She nods, suppresses the cheshire cat grin.

Says, “That will be fine.”

More than one way to skin a cat snip red tape.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty had a great fall.

All the city’s horses and all the city’s men, couldn’t put Humpty together again.

You may also enjoy: Every Time A Bell Rings

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