As I read the text from my husband, I felt a worrisome concern. He isn’t one to send such a random text.
Once upon a time, a father and son went to the Big Blue Box Store on a supposedly simple errand that should not involve you-know-what hitting the fan. The father had purchased a new toilet for the master bathroom. He had arranged to pick it up later when his son could help. It would not fit in his little red Ford Focus. His son drove a Ford Escape.
The father is an older gentleman, formerly a school superintendent, and the son is a golf pro playing in Florida Senior PGA events. Both are well-respected, honest men, pillars in their community.
Now, here is where it gets a bit stinky.
The clerk who placed the original order failed to communicate on the ticket that it would be picked up later.
As much as the father tried to explain what should have led to an easy movement of the toilet bowl from the store to the Ford Escape, a blockage suddenly occurred.
The communication had now gotten constipated.
The older gentleman is my husband, and the other man is his son, Jeff.
The receipt showed that the toilet was paid for. They needed to prove they were not trying to take an extra toilet. In the world of thievery, who wants to steal a toilet?
The clerk at the pickup register was still not budging on the release of the toilet. This was becoming a severe blockage.
When the manager was called, she offered Chuck and Jeff a seat on a sofa in the patio furniture display. At the same time, folks at the store began an internal investigation to verify the information provided by my husband.
This had become The Great Crapper Caper (in the words of my husband). Chuck and Jeff were being held hostage by the constipated communication.
The manager offered them chocolates. I kid you not. She said allowing movement on the crapper saga might take a while. The aggravation was a real pain in the tushy.
This had gone to the Big Blue Box Store CSI department, and the time posted on the receipt allowed the manager on duty to find security footage of my husband leaving the store with only the lightbulbs he purchased at the same time as the toilet. Thank goodness we needed lightbulbs. Chuck was recognized as leaving the store without his new toilet.
Chuck and Jeff were allowed to take the toilet in Jeff’s SUV. The Great Crapper Caper would now be made into a column by me, Chuck’s storytelling wife, who was thrilled to have a new toilet and a great story.
I hope my readers are not offended by the story. It was just too good not to tell, with a few embellishments to make it more fun to read. The facts are all there. That is Chuck Leonard’s story. Netflix may have its TV series Schitt’s Creek, but Chuck Leonard has his Crapper Caper, which he will tell at Stony Creek Golf Course. We all need a laugh on these crazy, aggravating days.
There will be no jokes about King Charles and his throne. There is a happy ending, as we now can say the end of this column … came with a Royal Flush.
Janet Hart Leonard can be contacted at janethartleonard@gmail.com or followed on Facebook or Instagram (@janethartleonard). Visit janethartleonard.com.