It was early January in Nova Scotia and, as usual, it was freaking cold. I was living in a tiny bachelor apartment that I had just moved into after my three and a half year relationship ended. I was tired of sleeping in my sister's bed crying, afraid to be alone while she patiently talked me through it.

I had just woken up for the third day in a row to an old Big Mac box which, though it would have been easier to get rid of, reminded me of a prolonged one-night-stand that I just couldn't let walk out the door. 24-hour Macdonald's have always reminded me of hookers. I walk by them in the daytime and think, "Oh gross. You make me sick! You're what's wrong with the world!" But at 3:00 a.m., when I've been drinking, they're just one swipe of my credit card away from giving me a really guilty morning.

This morning was no different as I looked out my big beautiful curtainless window that spanned the entirety of my room, my recent life in shambles on display for everyone to see. As I peeled the one thin sheet off my frozen body I repeated the same phrase I had been saying for eight days now: "Alright. I have to buy a duvet today." I stood up and sat down (there is no walking involved between my two sole pieces of furniture). My small leather ottoman is plunked right in front of a 1989 Hitachi TV, which was still playing Season six of Sex in the City from the night before. The scene was Carrie, the female lead, about to choose between the popular Mr. Big and the somewhat chilly Russian architect. Right before she decided her fate, my $50-DVD player crashed and burned.

I sat contemplating the significance of this a while. I might as well tell you I was putting my money on Mr. Big and bargained with myself that if he won Carrie, my girlfriend would take me back. Maybe it's best I never knew the truth.

As I picked up my guitar and made a half-assed attempt at what was supposed to be "Cowboy Take Me Away," I could feel my one-night-stand making some noise in my stomach. It was time for the final awkward goodbye - a number two that turned out to be more of a one and a half. Sorry about that piece of information, but shite happens to be the basis of my story.

The deed required the use of an abundant amount of toilet paper - we're talking half a roll. But, as I went to flush for good, the world just wouldn't let her out of my life. Instead of funneling down into the earth, the water line in the bowl slowly started to rise, almost levitating towards me. Frozen with fear, I simply stood solid to the floor, hoping it would work itself out and I wouldn't have to do anything.

As if my prayer was answered, the water line stopped right before the top. Not knowing much about plumbing and barely having the will to live, I thought if I went out for the day that this little problem would sort itself out by the time I got back home. Because as they say, the world never gives you more than you can handle, and well, I couldn't handle this.

As I returned home in slightly better spirits (I think I'd had an ice cream cone or something), I was greeted at the door by a Mike-Tyson-uppercut-to-the-face of a stench that burned my nose hairs.

I entered the scene of the crime and noticed nothing had changed. The water level was still high, and I still didn't know what to do. I just stood there staring at what I had created with my apathy. If you're thinking: "Why didn't you just use a plunger?" But recall: I didn't even have curtains.

So I went to Sobeys, which is a large grocery store chain on the east coast of Canada, to find a plunger. I walked through the entire store and not one plunger. (Plenty of hot wheels and smokes, but nary a plunger). So with little ambition I returned home to the smell that I had grown somewhat accustomed to, walked into the bathroom and stared again. Time passed. But then I had an idea.

I went into the kitchen, looked through my cupboards, finding nothing but a single small water glass. Then I found a plastic bag and the light bulb moment happened. I wrapped the plastic bag around my hand, grabbed the glass and went back to the scene. I looked down and let out a low rumbling "Oh God," and then slowly went at it. I filled the small glass with water that looked like an episode of the X-Files, and without really thinking of consequences, dumped the contents into my bathtub.

"Oh well," I thought, "that's only where I clean myself." I continued this task until the bowl was about half way down. Feeling somewhat proud, I figured this was enough of an effort. (Maybe I was a bit high from the fumes or just didn't know any better). I then concluded that all I needed to do was pull the cord thingy to make the toilet flush and problem solved. So I took off the back of the toilet dipped my hand into the arctic waters and pulled away. It turned out badly.

The water started to gush out of my toilet, rapidly filling my floor. What at first was murky swamp water, after time, turned crystal clear. I stood there staring as my feet became soaked. Then, sighing, went back and grabbed my glass and started shoveling the new water into the bathtub. However, this time the water was coming out too fast and was starting to go into my living room slash bedroom slash kitchen slash...garbage pit. So, I threw down my best and only towel to try and prevent the worsening deluge.

All of a sudden I heard a voice screaming down the hallway, "What's going on? It's coming down like buckets in my room!" I started to tremble with fear at the sound of the deep baritone voice. In a mood I could only describe as "too pissed to knock," the voice barreled in through my doorway and stood above me breathing heavily in his six foot three 220 pound frame.

With innocent eyes, I looked up and said, "Yeah man I dunno, it's coming down really bad in here too, I uh, I just don't know."

With great intensity he proclaimed, "I'm going to get to the bottom of this," and left my apartment and busted into the door right across the hall from me where a naked female in the midst of some late night interpretive dancing stood frozen in shock at having been interrupted before screaming, "Get Out of here!"

Embarrassed for a second, the caveman said, "Oh crap, sorry," and came back into my room where I stood staring at the floor. "Dude what's going on? Where is it coming from? In here? In your bathroom?"

Before I could say anything, he entered the bathroom and my lie was apparent. "Oh crap dude! It IS coming from your toilet! Oh crap! Your toilet water is flooding my apartment!"

At this point, I was pretty sure we were going to fight and I was going to die. Having grown up with two sisters, I had never really fought, at least not with fists or with any sense of technique. But I did learn a few things from my sisters...

Noticing his long hair, I decided I would just pull it and bite him. But something came over the beast that day. He just looked at me and in a Captain-of-the-ship-like voice asked, "Do you have a plunger?"

"No sir I don't, Sobeys does not sell plungers."

"Well have you asked anyone in this apartment for a plunger?"

My eyes shifted to the right as I suddenly thought of how easy that would have been. Sheepishly I replied, "No I didn't." Then he looked down to the toilet where we could see a bunch of toilet paper clogging the toilet.

Before I could say anything he looked at me and said, "Don't worry, I work at the hospital - this doesn't bother me." He then reached his hand into my toilet and started pulling at the toilet paper. This act unlocked the real culprit - the hidden turd causing all the chaos. While he had claimed to have a strong stomach, as the realization that his hand was in someone else's toilet touching someone else's crap, he started gagging, saying, "Oh crap dude, there's still crap in here, gross."

I was wondering what he thought he would find looking through my clogged toilet. Thinking best not to say any of this I just looked at him and shrugged. He then rushed out of the apartment and within seconds was back with a plunger.

"Ask and you shall receive my friend," he said. My mind was still turning about him touching my poop. He then plunged down three solid times and the over flowing stopped. He stood breathing heavily, staring down into the toilet like it was his dead father's grave. Then he turned and looked at me with a bit of a smile and said, "I can't believe I just had your crap in my hand."

I couldn't hold it in I burst out laughing dropping to my knees. He than followed me and the two of us were on the ground laughing as hard as you possibly can about what had just gone on.

"What's your name dude?" he asked me.

"David, what's yours?"

"Steven, It's a good thing you lied to me initially dude; I was ready to punch you when I first came in here, then when I saw the naked chick next door I calmed down a bit."

"Yeah. (Pause) Was she hot?"

"No."

"Crappy." We sat there in silence a few moments. "Look man, I'm really sorry I'll clean up your room and replace anything I ruined."

"Screw that dude. I'm gonna help you clean your room and you're gonna help me clean mine."

Before I could protest, he had the idea to turn off the power so that we didn't get electrocuted while we cleaned. So we did that. But then it was pitch black and we realized we needed a flashlight. I didn't have one, so we both went next door to the unattractive interpretive dancer's room and asked her if she had one. She was still angry so we explained the situation. She ended up giving one of those lights that you wear as a band around your head.

So I put it on, and we went to start cleaning. After the ordeal, we went down to his room where he had a bed, a sofa, a laptop and a vintage Chuck Norris Total gym, clothes and old food everywhere. I thought to myself, "Wow, this is what my place would look like if I had stuff."

When we entered his bathroom, the brown water was coming through the light fixture in his ceiling so we again had to turn the power off. I focused the headlamp on the light fixture as he unscrewed it. The fixture was filled with dark brown soup. He glared at me and I again just shrugged.

Sensing my guilt, he said, "Don't worry about it man." Then I took the lamp and focused it on his bathroom mat. "Oh No! My fish!" he exclaimed.

"What?" I asked.

"My fish," he said softly. The bath mat had pictures of little fish on it. "This was the very first thing I ever bought when I moved out."

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling his energy shift.

"Ah well. It all comes to an end I suppose."

Either Steve has the heart of Jesus and the detachment of the Buddha, or he was just bottling it all in very deep. Or maybe he was as lonely as I was and needed the company. We finished cleaning and filled three garbage bags of paper towels, most of his bathroom possessions, including the fish mat.

"Hey man lemme buy you a burger or something," I said.

"No man. I'm going to go down to Sobeys and replace this stuff."

"Well let me at least do that for you," I offered.

"You know what you can do? You can come with me."

So we ventured out to Sobeys where he replaced all the things I had ruined and he didn't let me pay for any of it. On the way out the door, he casually pointed to his right: "See man that's where the plungers are." I shrugged and made a mental note for next time.

In a world so full of false promises and hidden agendas, Steve showed me how to love unconditionally. I pooped on his head and lied about it. I watched as he cleaned it up for me, never asking for anything in return. We didn't need to make any false plans for the future. We simply said goodbye.

Here I was miserable because a girl no longer loved me and I was feeling sorry for myself. Steve and I never spoke again. We didn't need to, he taught me a valuable lesson. There's no use placing false hope on Carrie picking Mr. Big to make your dreams come true. She did pick Big and my girlfriend never took me back. When your shite is piling up and starting to overflow don't just stand there, do something.

Epilogue:
I did see Steve the day I left Halifax to come to Vancouver. We made eye contact and he gave me a knowing smile before engaging his friend in what I imagine was this same story, if only from a different point of view.