Abigail M. Schilling

I'm in a fight with the internet tonight because a) when I got home after being away from the computer for four whole hours I had zero emails, and b) the website I was reading 20 minutes ago is now "not responding."

Any normal person would, at this point, throw in the towel and go to bed. Instead, I have alternating hitting REFRESH with pattering around the house. I've had a bowl of soup, changed the toilet paper roll, yelled at Patrick sixty two times regarding his whining requests to get up on the new couch, and read the entire rest of the internet.

Including Jennie's post about her garbage disposal at her place of work. She used the term garbage disposal pus.

Remember when I said that the garbage disposal made an awful, awful noise on New Year's Day Morning Breakfast? And it was because of the shot glasses inside of it? Well, awful was used twice because the garbage disposal in general sounds awful. It always sounds like it's eating a tractor and sometimes it makes the whole sink shake (like an earthquake) and sometimes it actually shoots water out of it. Gross.

So I always stick my hand down there before running it to make sure there isn't anything extra in there (like Jennie's key) to make matters worse.

Today at my office I was doing the dishes (and also adding water to the dishwashing soap because that makes it last longer and I use so much of it that I feel the need to make up the difference) and the sink wasn't draining. We don't have a garbage disposal (awful-sounding or otherwise) so I figured there was food bits (garbage disposal pus, thank you, Jennie) blocking the drain. I couldn't see it because of all the soapy water (yeah, I use that much soap, my dishes are clean) so I just stuck my hand down there to find whatever it was and remove it.

(I used to be completely unable to do anything like this until I worked in the kitchen at a summer camp. Turns out there is nothing grosser than summer camp kitchen garbage disposal pus. That is the stuff adolescent paperbacks are made of. Well, that and acne.)

So my hand is down in the soapy water feeling around. Oh, spaghetti! this must be what's clogging the drain and what's this big chunk of something? It's hard? Is that the side of the drain? Feel weird.. ouch! Oh, right, a giant piece of glass!

Since it was from an actual broken glass and not a shot glass it was a significantly thicker piece and cut right down into my finger steady and deep. Awesome. So I washed it off and used the office first aid kit and bitched about it for the rest of the day.

I think this just goes to show that when you have a fear (shards of glass everywhere, thank you New Year's Eve) it is realized. Or maybe this was just the universe paying me back for spelling shards wrong on the last post.

I also need to mention that I was totally wrong when I said Ryan cleaned out the garbage disposal after the shot glass incident. Kathy actually cleaned it out while Ryan "was a pansy" (Kathy's words) and watched.

The end. REFRESH. No luck.