Instead, for a full minute, the shower made a sound. Not the usual gurgle of a dying man, but a deep, wet cough . A shudder. And then—a hollow, sucking glug-glug-glug .
The next night, her book club read a chapter on pioneer remedies. Lena served brie and crackers, but she also set out a little bowl of baking soda on the coffee table with a note tucked underneath. baking soda for clogged drains
The reaction was immediate. A satisfying, violent fwoosh . The drain began to hiss and foam, a furious, bubbling volcano of carbon dioxide. Little white suds climbed up the metal grate like a science fair project gone rogue. Lena jumped back, half expecting the pipes to explode. Instead, for a full minute, the shower made a sound
With nothing to lose (except her security deposit), Lena scooped out half the box. She poured the fine, soft powder into the drain—a little white avalanche into the dark. It sat there like snow on a manhole. Then, with the recklessness of a woman who had already accepted defeat, she followed with a cup of white vinegar. And then—a hollow, sucking glug-glug-glug
Lena snorted. “What am I going to do? Bake the clog out?”
Lena stood there, barefoot, holding the empty orange box.