Poo, a True Story

This is a story I just cannot let pass without relating to my fair and lovely readers. I apologize in advance for the absolute grossness and disgustitude that you will feel.

This morning, about 10am the husband went outside to buy milk. Upon his return he told me that three flights down there was a giant poo in the hallway. He covered it up with a box, and planned to return with a pen to write "do not move the box there is poo inside" lest someone accidentally kick the box. Unfortunately that did not happen in a timely manner, mostly because the thought of returning to the poo was too revolting a task. Also, responsible neighbor that I am, I phoned the super and the landlord to alert them of this mess and ask them to come on a Sunday to clean it up (via voicemail, obviously they would never answer on a Sunday).

About an hour later we went outside to enjoy the beautiful morning. As we came upon the poo from the top of the stairs, and as we prepared our noses to stop breathing, we discovered that the box had been kicked, and someone had stepped in it. It smelled worse than you are currently imagining, because it wasn't just poo, it was a giant, slimy, soggy pile of human diarrhea. And it was right in the doorway, on the doormat (well, oozing off the doormat) of one our new-ish neighbors, ie the NYU students paying very high market rate rents.

Simultaneously, as we stood at the top of the stairs, a door opened and out came two people. I asked if they lived here and if they'd witnessed the poo. Turns out, they weren't tenants, they were the broker and a prospective tenant looking at an apartment! And the broker was the one who had kicked the box and stepped in the poo! What luck!

Happily, I asked him if he had any pull in getting the landlord to clean up the diarrhea. Instead of saying "of course I'm going to do that because I can't rent an apartment in a building that has human shit in the hallway," he started yelling about the idiot who had put the box on top of the human diarrhea. That idiot was my husband, usually an overly calm and reliable man with a stoic midwestern attitude who doesn't yell at anybody, much to my dismay. But on this occasion he yelled and swore at the guy who represents a landlord that has shit in his apartment hallways and doesn't clean it up. Naturally I chimed in, and a fun yelling match about shit and the landlords who come with it went on for the duration of our descent.

You can't make this shit up.