IN TRANSITION #15
Dragging a $3.50 plunger behind me through the aisles of the supermarket just prior to closing the other night, I wondered if I had reached bottom.
Nope. Just adulthood.
It had been one of those inevitable days of maturation I'd been waiting for. A perfect storm of fiascos had formed -- everything from a clogged shower in the bathroom to the freezing wintry conditions outside. And then this: an overflowing stopped-up toilet.
I had come home late from a long day of work and found one of my roommates hunched over the toilet with an old plunger too small to properly plunge. In between flushing attempts we chatted about his ailing health.
''There's nothing worse than trying to fall asleep in a freezing cold room," he said, and then returned to the toilet bowl.
Despite the unseasonably cold temperatures, we had yet to switch on the heat. Too cheap, too lazy, whatever the reason, we had all just tried to live with the sub-40-degree nights with as many layers and blankets as possible. But with my roommate's health -- and this new toilet problem to boot -- I figured maybe it was time to do something about our living conditions.
Raised in the warmth of Tucson, I had imagined -- like most things I had imagined about living in my own apartment -- that turning on the heat would be a major ordeal. I had heard confusing anecdotes from friends about having to call the natural gas company; another friend mentioned something about flipping a mysterious switch in the basement. In our case, it was easier than any of that. In fact, not surprisingly, all we had to do was find the thermostat -- which turned out to be prominently displayed in the living room.
One of the lesser known (and debatable) downsides of attending college at Harvard is that almost everyone lives all four undergraduate years in dormitories, which means, among other things, that you never learn how to cook, clean, or tend to the many unforeseen incidents that arise when you're responsible for your own apartment.
Or at least that's the line my friends and family always gave me.
''You won't have any idea what goes into taking care of your own place," one friend warned over the summer. ''I can't believe Harvard deprives you all of any real-life experience."
I suppose there's some truth to it. The utter lack of life skills training probably made the transition out of college that much more abrupt and confusing. This fall I have been consistently let down by my oh-so-meager culinary training. I've quickly tired of my rotating menu of canned beans, instant rice, and frozen dinners. (Fortunately, I have enough roommates and friends who are willing to cook for me in return for favors.)
But the fact is, in most respects, taking care of my apartment hasn't been especially complicated. I would even argue easy if it weren't for the other night. Sure there was that letter threatening to turn off the utilities right after we moved in, and there's that stuck window in the bathroom the landlord's been talking about fixing since back in August, but all in all, apartment living has been as I expected.
In fact, even the toilet turned out OK. After I sent my sick roommate to bed, another roommate came home desperate to pee. So I went on a late-night scavenger hunt to the grocery store for a new plunger and some pipe-clearing chemicals. Not to brag, but within minutes, voilà!: we were back to full-flushing action.
And the landlord came by the next day to fix the bathroom window -- just in time for the freak October snowstorm. Even the shower drain problem turned out to be just a clump of hair.
The experience has only emboldened me. College may not have taught me a lot of skills applicable to the real world, but really, I'm not in such bad shape. I can plunge a toilet after all.
Benjamin Toff lives in Somerville. Reach him at benjamin.toff@gmail.com.
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