I woke up expecting only the usual: I’d go pee, brush my teeth, wash my face, dry my face, fix breakfast, eat breakfast etc. Little did I know that when I stepped into the bathroom I was walking into a train wreck. I did not notice the extent of the damage at first, but when the clues added up, it was overwhelming: I was in the midst of a bona fide shit storm.
As I stood before the toilet, passing water, I noticed a brown stain marring the bowl. Ah, yet another unnecessary gesture from my flatmate. But it is Sunday morning. No need to escalate things. After all, it is not on the seat; it’s in the bowl. One thing was very strange about the stain: it was at the front end of the bowl, not towards the back where one would expect according to the principles of anatomy and physics. I did not want to think about it too much, so I just took it cum grano salis and went about my business in stride. No big deal. But, I am not cleaning it.
Admittedly, the stain disgusted me. But, denial only made things worst in the next stage of progression. As I was reaching to pump soup from the dispenser sitting on top of the sink, I could not help but to notice brown stuff smeared on it. There was a voice inside my head that said “this cannot be happening.” As I studied the stuff, I wanted to believe that it was just mud. I turned on the sink, and was met with a terrible slipperiness that no one deserves to experience. I looked at my hand, and low and behold, the same brown stuff was smeared onto my hand. It was at this moment that my olfactory senses kicked into gear, making it perfectly clear that what I have in hand is 100% genuine shit.
I panicked: I just touched my flatmate’s feces. With heart rate elevated, I stood immobilized with disgust for about thirty seconds. What am I supposed to do?! This may be a two person flat, but I never anticipated things to get this intimate. This is simply unacceptable. But even more importantly, I need to get this “mud” off of me!
I used my soiled hand to turn off the tap, and with the other hand, turned on the tub’s faucet. I carefully managed to get soap from the dispenser without touching the crap on it and proceeded to wash my hands in the tub. I wanted to stay away from the sink. I ran to my room, shut the door, and proceeded to use ample quantities of hand sanitizer.
All I wanted was a normal beginning of the day – not one as excitatory as the one that had just come to pass. If my flatmate would clean-up the mess before he realized what I had just seen and experienced, I would not mention any of it at all to him. This did not happen. He proceeded to use the bathroom as if nothing was wrong.
Even if what I had touched earlier were my own feces, I would not allow the stuff to just sit there. It must be removed and sanitized. The moron has no idea that he has just cooked up the ripest conditions to spread an oral fecal disease of some sort. This changes everything.
While I had always suspected that he is not keen on cleanliness – not that I am the champion of neatness, but I do have my sensibilities for hygiene – I am now going to make sure that he does not use my stuff ever in the kitchen.
I am so thoroughly disgusted. Time to write a note to the flatmate.
___
Post note:
Upon returning to the flat, I was met with an extremely apologetic flatmate. To his chagrin, he told me that he was so drunk that he missed the toilet all together. He assured me that he had decontaminated the bathroom and admitted that what had happened is disgusting and that he is sorry for what he had done. I was relieved that there is finally resolve to this problem. I promised him that I will not hold this against him, and that I will willfully forget that it ever happened.
I survived this...luckily smells don't emanate from computer monitors, yet. 
were photos really necessary? really?
ReplyDeletereally.
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