DIANE MAKAR MURPHY The Unstopper plunges in to unplug toilets

It is a cry like no other. There is no mistaking it. It comes from the place where the worst of human fears dwell. It is the scream that all makers of slasher movies, from "Friday the 13th" to "Halloween," try to elicit. It is the cry one emits when one's toilet overflows.
"Aaaaaaah!"
"There must be 2 inches of water in here!"
"Aaaaaaah!"
In my home, I am the one to call for this emergency. Despite the fact that the cry was my husband's, and that he is unquestionably the handyman of the household, I am the Toilet Unstopper. It is a banner I wear unhappily.
This time, however, it is John who orders the "old" towels and spreads them in the bathroom. It is John who wiggles the handle and flushes one more time (an error each human MUST make EACH time the toilet overflows); it is John who then must order more "old" towels while screaming his primal "toilet overflowing" yell again.
"Aaaaaah!"
Time for the expert to come in.
Swinging into action
"Get me a bucket and the plunger. No, not that plunger -- the one with the sticky out thing on the bottom. STAT."
Thoowuck. Thoowuck. Thoowuck. It has been years since I discovered the out-pull was the pivotal one. I have used it repeatedly to draw my daughter's hair out of the bathtub drain. Thoowuck. Thoowuck. Thoowuck. It is a frightening technique, however, when unstopping a toilet. I contemplate the horror of success.
Thoowuck. Thoowuck. Thoowuck. Nothing.
"Put some water on to boil!" I shout like a doctor practiced in delivering unclogged toilets. I hear a pot shuffle in the kitchen. Everyone is at my disposal for this important operation. The water runs; the pot clanks onto the stovetop.
"Now, grab the dishwasher soap; I'll get the vinegar." (In our last house, the toilet plugged and I went on the Internet. I read about placing dishwasher detergent into the bowl along with vinegar. After five minutes, the article said, pour a pot of boiling water into the drain. We followed instructions and stared at the bowl. It rumbled a little, bubbles appeared, then SWISH! We had saved a $100 plumber visit!)
While the water rumbled to a boil this time, I wrung the towels from the floor out into a bucket. I also retrieved the toilet snake from the basement. I put its plastic sleeve into the bowl and snaked the rusty, coiled wire into the drain. Crank. Crank. Crank. The water turned a disgusting rust-color. Crank. Crank. Crank. Nothing seemed to be there. Hmmm.
I flushed.
"Aaaaaaaah!"
"Towels, towels, more towels!"
"There are no more towels!"
"Aaaaaah!"
An old potato salad tub bailed the water from the toilet bowl. The bucket was by now full, my bare feet (no lectures, please) were standing on soaked towels, and, as is typical, everyone else had returned to their lives.
But not the Toilet Unstopper. No, the Toilet Unstopper poured detergent into the bowl and topped it off with vinegar. The Toilet Unstopper watched a volcano erupt in a porcelain Pompeii, bubbling at the bottom of the toilet. And then I dumped in the boiling water.
The result
It hit the deck like a flash flood and cut right through the rusty water. Then... nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Now, our bathroom is covered in soggy towels, with two plungers, a rusty snake, dishwasher detergent, white vinegar and a bucket of disgusting water sitting in it while I contemplate admitting defeat. To clean up would mean I have given up. Lest you think it is pride, think again. It is money.
If you think "Aaaaah" is a primal scream, you should hear what I do when we get a plumber's bill.
murphy@vindy.com