We begin with a prologue, establishing the time and place, and the circumstances that leads to quite literally a sh*tty situation.
This happened Thursday evening. I just moved into a new apartment Tuesday, and of course, like anyone else, it takes a bit to find things and unpack everything. Also, I have recently adjusted the amount of medication I take for my organ transplant, so I become constipated quite easily. These are two pertinent pieces of information for this story.
I was expecting guests for dinner at 7PM. I'd been rushing around all day, hanging paintings, removing plastic from new furniture, setting up my electronics, etc. As fate would have it, I suddenly have the urge at around 615. Ok, no problem. I turn dinner down to low, and off to the restroom...for eternity.
25 minutes of excruciating pain later, and I've successfully given birth to an 8-lb brown baby boy. I didn't die, although I felt like it, and I'm kind of laughing to myself when it hits me: That thing is the size of a puppy, and I have no idea where my plunger is at! Glancing at my phone, I notice it's now 6:45.
Sheer panic! Guests are coming, Dusty The Dirtman is in my toilet, and there is no way I could successfully flush that thing in even the mightiest of toilets.
Um...quick, logic! What can I do? After cleaning up and washing my hands, I come up with the greatest decision of all time! I go into my living room, where my 250 gallon aquarium is set up. A quick apology and promise to get a new net for my lionfish later, and I'm at the toilet with a very large fish net.
Is the guy's solution as creative as naming a turd "Dusty the Dirtman"? Well:
I capture the masterpiece quite successfully, and then it hits me, what do I do with it? I solved one problem, yet created another. This was my fuck up and tactical error. I live on the 10th floor of a building shaped like an obelisk. There's no time to run it out in a bag of trash, we are T-Minus 5 minutes from company arriving. I shake off the net over the bowl so it doesn't drop, hold the trash can under it, and run out the sliding door to my balcony. Life is good.
Or is it? Baby Dusty still has nowhere to go!
Shit! It's 70 degrees outside. What if someone wants to smoke or get fresh air on the balcony? In a moment of brilliance, panic, and fucking up, I flung the poo-filled net off of the balcony. Keep in mind, the building is tapered, so I have to get enough distance to clear the other balconies. I also didnt account for the breeze. My playdough poop man landed right on the sidewalk at the entrance to the building. At a height of ten stories, I could only imagine the impact zone that made, or where in the world the net may have ended up. I saw them separate on the descent, but I didn't care, because I just pulled off the greatest crap caper ever, and I was homefree!
I returned inside, made sure there was no evidence of anything, washed again thoroughly, resumed cooking dinner, and my phone rang. It was my fiancé, saying her family had to cancel and she'd be over later, because when they arrived, her mother slipped on what turned out to be the largest piece of crap ever, and turned her ankle.
Ah yes, a valuable tale of how actions have unintended consequences—and to always unpack the plunger first.
If you're wondering if the Mother-in-Law-to-be is alright, and if she learned about the poop, our "crap caper" included an epilogue.
UPDATE: Her mom is fine, and I haven't said anything lol! I did receive a text from her mom Saturday morning: Gm, sorry for the last minute cancellation last night. I'm sure Brandi explained. My ankle will be fine according to the dr...just ice and ibuprofen. Brandi said the apartment is $2,700/month. People really need to clean up after their pets for that, it brings the entire place down. Have a good day, hope to see you soon.
Maybe it's a story best left for the wedding vows.