Clogger.com

There are certain products that are challenging to purchase while at the same time maintaining your dignity.

The other day, I arrived home from work, and to my dismay, my toilet would not flush. It's not like me to clog toilets, I swear. I recognize the need to preserve our forests, and I go easy on the toilet paper compared to some people I know, who construct nests large enough to house an entire flock of condors on top of the toilet seat before using the bathroom.

After several failed attempts, I realized that my toilet was definitely not going to drain by itself. I searched my condo for a plunger, hoping to find one hiding in the corner of one of the closets I usually neglect. Once I realized I was not going to find one, I was hit with a wave of anxiety. I thought about ways to cover up what was really going on: I could buy a soap dispenser, a couple of throw rugs and a set of towels, that way it would look like I had just moved in, and buying a plunger would be no big deal. It would look like I was preparing for a "just in case" scenario, and I wouldn't have to encounter anyone while holding a prop that said "Hi, my name is Evan, I take huge shits that clog my toilet, nice to meet you."

The problem with buying an entire bathroom set is that I didn't need one, and I didn't feel like driving to Target twice in one day to return it. I started thinking of ways to explain myself to the cashier. I could say that my wife is on this high-fiber diet that's really causing problems.

Upon entering Target, I decided to call a friend, because nobody should have to shoulder that kind of burden alone. I casually walked to the back of the store as if I were there to purchase something as innocent as a frying pan, and grabbed the plunger once I had arrived in the appropriate section. From here it was a race to make it to the front of the store while being spotted by as few Target patrons as possible. I saw a beautiful girl several yards away, and made a beeline for the boys clothing section, where I ducked below a rack of t-shirts. I weaved my way through a maze of products, and finally made it to the register. I was still on the phone with my friend, who was offering me moral support, as the acne-speckled teen scanned my plunger and put it in a shopping bag, which hardly acted as a disguise.

I arrived back at my condo victorious, relieved that I will never have to make that purchase again as long as I live. God help me if I ever become incontinent.