This situation I found myself in reminds me of a Seinfeld episode–how something that happens at the beginning of the episode often comes back as the punch line at the end. For example, Kramer hitting golf balls into the ocean and then George, a “marine biologist,” later pulling an obstruction from a beached whale. “Is that a Titlest?” (George telling the story of his heroic rescue is incidentally my absolute favourite Seinfeld, or dare I say, television, moment… “The sea was angry that day, my friends. Like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli.” Kills me every time.)
In my apartment, I have a big window that overlooks my street (you might recall it as the same window I watch my mailman not deliver my packages through). A little bistro table where I sit and eat dinner (if it’s not lap suitable dinner, that is) is situated directly in front of the window, so I can people watch as I mow down. On a lovely June evening I saw a man walking two large dogs. One of them stopped and took a giant shit in the grass right in front of my building (and by “them” I mean “the dogs” or else this story would be entirely different…). It was a big, steaming pile. I could see it clearly from my window and I didn’t even have my glasses on.
The owner just kept on walking. No pick up! Not even a fake pick up (the ol’ crouch and swoop…I’m on to you dog people…). My window was open and I briefly contemplated yelling, “Hey you! Yeah, I’m talking to you! Up here! Pick up after your dog!,” but I’m not confrontational enough. Strongly worded emails are more my style.
One week later…
I dropped a friend off downtown around dinner time, and then I picked up some shawarma for dinner (uuuuuuuhshspifhjkslkshsjhalaaaa–that’s the sound of me salivating and drooling right now). When I got home, I parked in my usual spot on the street right in front of my building. I was so excited to eat the heavenly entity that is shawarma that I wasn’t really watching my step and… you guessed it. I stepped right into a colossal pile of dog poop. In my canvas Toms. Right in the same spot where the dump happened the previous week. I don’t know if it was the same pile of crap, but I would bet a million dollars that it was at least the same culprit.
If I had the guts to yell at the non-scooper the week before, he likely wouldn’t have continued to commit the crime, and I wouldn’t have had to scrape my shoes with a butter knife.
But first, I ate my shawarma. It was so delicious and I ate it so aggressively that I accidently chewed right into my bottom lip. There was pain. And blood. I didn’t stop eating.
To borrow and paraphrase from Jerry Seinfeld’s stand up, I really do believe that if aliens were looking down on us right now, they’d be thinking dogs ruled the world. Where else do the rulers voluntarily pick up the shit of another species and then carry it around with them?
Bow…..bow bow bow……bow…..bow……bow bow……bow……bow……bow…….bow bow bow…..bow…..bow……bow……bow……bow bow…..shoobiddydo (Seinfeld theme music at the end of the episode…I tried)