In a past post (I moved. Here’s why.), I alluded to a very disturbing event that happened to me amid the moving chaos (you know, that time when several neighbours found my blog and ganged up on me cyber-style not simply for posting the crazy notes from my neighbour online, but more for merely mentioning the beloved building troubadour in an insignificant anecdote, so I moved). I said it was a story for another day. Today is that day!
One bright, blissful August Saturday morning in my old apartment, I woke and pranced around in the merriment of a glorious morn. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The delightful sounds of a Will and Grace marathon on the Women’s Network played in the background as I did some light tidying.
I needed to take out the garbage. While whistling a pleasant tune (What’s Your Fantasy? by Ludacris), I hoisted the bag over my shoulder like Santa Claus and merrily emerged from my apartment.
Immediately, something caught my eye directly across the hall from my door. There was an ominous dark mass on the floor.
I set down the bag and slowly crept towards the anomaly. I couldn’t quite place what it was. I got closer and closer and when finally hovering directly over it, I caught a whiff.
There was a pile of poop on the floor outside my apartment door.
If you want to see the actual poop pile, you’re sick. Though…I do have the uncensored version still in my phone…so now who’s sick?
I immediately jumped back in horror, grabbed my garbage bag and ran from the scene to the dumpster outside. I dropped my garbage in, all the while wondering what I should do about the poop that sat smugly waiting for me in the hallway.
Despite any previous description I’ve given of my um, colourful, neighbours, let me just assure you that I did not live in squalor. It was an older building, but relatively well-kept and this was my first phantom excrement encounter. I’m 99.99% sure it came from a doggie. I can only assume the owner was fumbling with his or her keys or something, not aware that the pooch escaped to take a dump on the floor. Despite my tensions with my neighbours, I like to think the poop drop directly across from my apartment was not purposeful. It’s what I keep telling myself to sleep at night.
I passed by the poop and returned to my apartment. I called the landlord. I got the machine.
“Um, hello, this is Lauren calling. There is, um, what I hope is dog poop in the hallway. Yes, I said dog poop. In the hallway. So, um, I’m wondering if said dog poop can be taken care of as soon as possible. Thanks.”
Twenty minutes had passed without a response. As the sun continued to rise and heat the building (it was August, remember), the smell began to intensify. Each time I opened my door to check if someone had taken care of the feces on the floor, I felt like I was bitch-slapped by stink. The hallway reeked.
The landlord finally returned my call. He was horrified and said he had been trying to reach a couple of guys who do handy work around the building to get one of them to take care of it. My landlord, you see, was away at a cottage up north for the weekend. That’s when the conversation turned awkward.
“None of the guys I called seem to be around. I’m not really sure what to do.”
“Hmmm…..yes, that’s quite the predicament.”
“Soooooo…..is there any way, if I paid you $30, you could get rid of it?”
This is my life.
I really should have haggled a higher price for my shit-removing services, but then, I suppose I’m only a lowly amateur pooper scooper. Can’t command the fee of a professional. I just really wanted the smell to be gone, one way or another.
I swallowed my pride, put on plastic gloves, grabbed a garbage bag and a spatula, took a deep breath, left my apartment and emerged into the red zone (or brown zone, I guess).
The smell was SO BAD at this point. Coughing, choking, gasping for air, I knelt down next to the pile, slid the spatula under and began scooping. It took a solid three scoops. Luckily, the turds were dry, hardened nuggets coated in what appeared to be grass or hair (hope you weren’t eating just then!), so it wasn’t nearly as messy as it could have been. Gotta look at the bright side!
Bag of poop in hand, I raced down the hall and out the door to the dumpster. I threw the bag, gloves AND spatula (what a sacrifice) in with such fury that I didn’t notice a tenant standing next to the door smoking. As I stomped back in, I blurted, “YOU KNOW WHAT I JUST THREW OUT? SOME IDIOT’S DOG SHIT THAT WAS IN THE HALLWAY!!!” and slammed the door behind me.
The smell still lingered in the hallway. I grabbed a bottle of Febreze and sprayed half of it in the soiled corner.
Monday morning, a cheque for $30 was slid under my door.