On Tuesday, I bought a plunger. Then I unclogged a toilet. It was a rather mundane occurrence.

In truth, that was fine with me. From what I’ve gathered, the best toilet-plunging stories (from the storyteller’s perspective, at least) are the LEAST eventful. It’s rare you’ll hear a tale like this:

“I was plunging the toilet last week and having a hell of a time with it, when what do you know, there’s a knock at the door, and it’s Ed McMahon telling me I’ve won the lottery.”

Much more common, I’d imagine, is the following:

“I was plunging the toilet last week and having a hell of time with it, and just when it’s nearly fixed, what do you know, there’s a massive flood and I’m swimming in regurgitated sewer water and fecal matter.”

So, yeah, I’m all right with the fact that I unclogged the toilet without a major catastrophe occurring. Besides, being the talented writer that I am, I could easily rework the mundane story of my toilet plunging into a gripping narrative if that’s what I desired. The dramatic tale of the lad who ventured into an ancient hardware store to retrieve a coveted plunger from amidst cluttered piles of dusty relics. Or the feminist parable of the young man obtaining his plunger-cum-phallus in order that he might prove his manhood in the ultimate test of masculinity, home bathroom repair. But taking one of these rich angles on my plunger-buying experience would only obscure the point I wish to make (yes, there is a point to all this nonsense): that plunger-buying is exactly the sort of mundane activity that one must do on a regular basis out in the real world.

Not that one must buy plungers regularly, I hope. In fact, I’d be greatly dismayed if my latest purchase fell into disrepair after only a few uses, particularly after I shelled out an extra ninety-nine cents (plus tax!) for the deluxe model with the plastic handle and blue cup. (It matches our bathmat). Yet this genre of task comes up time and time again. Taking out the recycling (after you’ve figured out when recycling day is and where to put it out). Cleaning out the refrigerator. The little things you have to do to keep your small corner of the world tidy and functional when you’ve realized there’s no Environmental Services staff to clean up after you.

The odd thing, though, is that you feel good about these little things at first. Each toilet unclogged, each moldy cup of leftovers thrown away, each empty can sent out for recycling is like a little testament to your independence. You might not feel like an adult yet, but, by golly, the empty tin of Campbell’s you placed carefully into a sturdy plastic or metal container less than twenty gallons in size proves otherwise. Kids don’t have to worry about the minutiae of trash day. You, however, do.

So that’s one plus to moving out into the real world. You might spend your time unclogging toilets. But, for a while, at least, you’ll be unclogging toilets and loving it.

ADDENDUM: How to Unclog a Toilet In Ten Easy Steps, Swattie Emeritus Style

(Because I like to provide “useful” advice occasionally)

1) Flush toilet. Cross your fingers that water will drain smoothly.
2) Flush toilet again. Maybe last time was a fluke.
3) Google “how to plunge a toilet” (don’t forget quotation marks)
4) Click through links that come up. Find simplest set of instructions available for toilet de-clogging.
5) Take break to eat lunch.
6) Attempt to flush toilet, just to triple-check that it didn’t unclog itself while you were eating.
7) Leave apartment. Buy plunger.
8) Return to saved instructions. Choose to ignore any steps that are complicated, hard-to-understand, or require undue expenditure of time or energy. (e.g. surrounding toilet with old towels to sop up potential overflow. If I follow the steps correctly, there shouldn’t be any overflow, right?)
9) Follow remaining steps of instructions. Use stylish new plunger as called for.
10) Voila, toilet good as new! And best of all, you’ve got a full stomach to boot.