When you take one step and miss the whole first rung

This is a story about Poop And Pee. You can read along with me in your book. You will know it is time to turn the page when you hear the chimes ring like this: BONNNNG

Let's begin.

Once upon a time about a week ago, some fascinatingly creative customer pooped in the book department at work. But not on the floor, oh no. On a shelf.

BONNNNG

Once upon a time about last Thursday, one of our donation attendants got fired so I had to stand in and do her job for about four hours. One of the OSD jobs is spot cleanup, as in, say, somebody pooping on a bookshelf or peeing on a pile of children's clothing. They also tie up balloons to make the store look drearily festive. As I stalked around the store with a fistful of balloons, I passed Ashley at the register and grumbled that there damn well better not be anybody misappropriating the fitting rooms to relieve themselves until DJ came in to take over as OSD. I punctuated the sentence with a disdainful sniff and froze in my tracks, Ashley's horrified face a mirror of my own. The unmistakable scent of raw, angry feces had descended on the store like a transparent fog. I steeled myself to run at the first sign of somebody trying to hand me a mop.

Fortunately it was just some hobo who'd crapped his pants trying to force his way into the store past Christina, who was bravely blocking the entrance. When I say "crapped his pants" I mean "crapped in his pants enough that people at the back of a store the size of a warehouse could smell this guy and he didn't even make it past the door." He tried to come back an hour later so we called the police, but even the police didn't want him, they just slowly chased him away in their squad cars. I can't really blame them. Poopman was bad enough to smell him through the store windows. He would've been lethal in a confined space like a squad car.

BONNNNNG

...hundreds and hundreds of angry bees!

BONNNNNNG

Once upon a time yesterday somebody peed in the fitting rooms WHILE I WAS STANDING FIVE FEET AWAY

BONNNNNG

Once upon a time today I was ringing through an older lady with a slightly vacant expression who grinned at me with her three remaining teeth and peed her pants as I was bagging her purchases. RIGHT THEN. PEED HER PANTS. RIGHT. THEN.

BONNNNG

And they all lived crappily ever after.

God, what a mess, on the ladder of success

"My life has soared to new heights," Betsi thought to herself, carving another spoonful of spam out of the can and chewing pensively.

Actually I really like spam and eating it straight out of the can kind of eliminates the middleman, the middleman being "dishes" and having to wash them. What can I say. Spam tastes like Winona.

Ok! So here's the synopsis for the last few months of my life:

1. Power blows out one night, lights come on a few hours later, computer does not. Preliminary investigation suggests death.

2. Five minute hissy fit

3. Over the next few weeks, freelance consultants (ie Kori and Paul) determine computer power supply crapped out when the power did. Godspeed, you stupid power supply.

4. Dad, of course, has a spare power supply.

5. Computer back up just in time for internet to not be, as it is moving time. I move in to share an apartment with my friend Jayme, and while I can't figure out how to hook my computer up to the router, I still at least have an excellent roommate and functioning computer.

6. Jayme gets job offer in North Carolina.

7. Jayme moves to North Carolina (on Thursday morning)

8. THE INTERNET IS ALL MINE

9. And dinner is a suspiciously old can of spam and an energy drink because Jayme took her microwave with her and come on, what am I, Laura Petrie? I can't make dinner EVERY NIGHT, you know. Or most nights.

So basically, that's where we are now! Living with Jayme was pretty great, and I'm pretty bummed she's gone, but so it goes. Jayme actually moved out in such a hurry (flew to NC for interview, was offered job, accepted job, and moved to NC all in under three weeks) that there's still a bunch of her stuff left here. I'm not sure what to do with it all. I mean, I assume the pair of underwear she mysteriously left behind the toilet in the bathroom is safe to throw away with a pitchfork, but does she want the nunchucks she left in the closet? Because, I mean, if she doesn't, I sure as heck do. Not the underwear. The nunchaku.

I think I'm just going to throw everything I find in a box and stick it in the little storage unit in the basement. I've actually only got this place until November, when I'll have to start all over with the apartment hunt. Not excited for this. My apartment is pretty awesome. The building dates back to the thirties, and the architecture reflects it. There's a complex of tunnels under the building leading to the laundry room and parking garage, with these ridiculously awesome belted steel doors that are painted fire engine red and counterweighted with a bike chain tied to some bricks. Plus, each of the individual buildings are arranged in a circle around a city block, and in the middle is a big gated courtyard with hedges and flowers and steps and things. Somehow, it always seems sunny out there.

Out of everything here, though, I'm definitely going to miss the big red steel fallout shelter seige-resistant door to the parking garage the most.

Katie is moving in with me tomorrow, which should be interesting. Actually, if they find out she's living here, we'll probably be evicted, which will be SUPER interesting. Moving her in is going to be pretty covert ops. I'm just not up to being evicted right now. It's pretty cold outside.