Last week was not the most delightful of my time in New York so far. I had the flu and one meeellion things to do, so I was basically hunched over my computer most of the week, in bed, feeling alternately like I was stuck in a freezer or roasting over coals, and perhaps, as I’ve mentioned, I also had a not-so-great attitude.
However, Friday was the kicker, because when I stepped outside of my apartment in the morning, a horrid smell assaulted my nostrils. It was shit, not to put too fine a point on it, and not that of a healthy person who eats their greens and drinks tea and meditates, either. It was sick people shit, which I think we can agree is the very worst kind.
I made my way cautiously down the stairs, the smell getting worse and worse with each step. I kept checking my shoes, peering into corners, trying my best to beware, but the trouble with bad smells is that you feel like they’re getting at you anyway, even if you don’t step in their source. It’s like they’re creeping into your pores, and also, like you’re eating them.
When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I discovered the source of the problem. Some stank-ass hobo (tm the Mouse) had let himself (or herself, I suppose) into my front hall, via the broken front door, and taken a copious, corn-filled dump all over the tile. They then removed their shirt, wiped their hiney, and left it, like a filthy flag, in a crumpled heap beside the poo. Oh, and also? When they left? This person dragged the front door through their crap, leaving a FAN OF EXCREMENT behind them. I don’t like to shout, but you’ll have to forgive me, because it was really almost more than I could stand. I nearly turned around and went back upstairs, but I couldn’t imagine calling my boss and telling her that I would have to work from home today, because of the hobo poop situation. Some people find that unprofessional, go figure.
It took me a full two and a half minutes to get around the poo and out my front door. This involved balletic leaps and leans and sidles, and a lot of barely suppressed retching. When I got outside, I checked my shoes and cuffs and pant-legs for crap, and found everything clean, but I still felt vaguely soiled for the rest of the day.
Now that, ladies and gents, is how you finish a crappy week. Ta-da!