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Poop Stories

Overseas Poop Story
I think one thing about going overseas is that it becomes a lot more ordinary than you originally thought it would be. It's like you're in America doing what you do, just different context. You have to deal with pretty ordinary, non-glorious things. I know some of you have already heard this, so I apologize in advance. For some reason though, it's my most vivid memory. I was going to post a picture of poop, but I don't have one and I thought some people wouldn't really appreciate it, especially the girly girls. So here, use your imagination:

<IMAGE HERE>

I was watching TV. In the middle of the breaking news, I got up to use the bathroom. As I was washing my hands, I heard another flush from upstairs and noticed that stuff started coming out of this hole NEXT to my toilet. At first I was like, "oh, what's that?" and then looked over closer and yelled, "OH MAN!!! WHAT IS THAT??!!" I realized it wasn't going to stop coming out, so I ran outside and found a cleaning lady to help me out. She came over, assessed the situation, and said; "uh oh, this is not good." was that clearly a statement of the obvious? LADY, NASTINESS IS A-FLOWIN' WHERE IT SHOULDN'T BE A-FLOWIN'! C'MON NOW!

She told me that the maintenance couldn't come until the next day because it was 10pm at night, so in an effort to help, she went across the street and got the cooks from the restaurant to come over. They came in with their shoes and walked through the NASTINESS, trailing NASTINESS throughout my apartment. They couldn't fix it either. I, uh, hope they washed their hands before going back to their restaurant.

AND OH LETS NOT FORGET THE SMELLS. I do not consider myself to have a very strong sense of smell. I also consider myself to have fairly quick olfactory sensory adaptation - but gosh, it was honestly THE MOST DISGUSTING, OVERPOWERING, NAUSEATING STENCH THAT HAS EVER PASSED THROUGH THE NOSTRILS OF MANKIND. I DO NOT EXAGGERATE. It was impossible to get used to the smell! I opened all the windows, shut my bedroom door in an effort to preserve the air that was still pleasantly breathable, but it was already a lost cause...

By then, the cleaning lady had informed the whole building not to use their bathrooms until further notice. She closed my bathroom door and stuffed the crack under the door with towels. After saying good night to the cleaning lady and the cooks, I sat in my bedroom at my desk, trying to concentrate on thinking of a lesson plan to teach the next morning, when suddenly I caught a whiff and fainted. (Ok, not accurate - I didn't faint, but I did start breathing through my mouth.)

The next day I deliberately stayed away from my apartment while they fixed it. I came back really late (in fact, past curfew of my school), because I didn't want to face it... and yes, it was fixed - but nothing was cleaned. And it still smelled NASTY. However, I knew that I couldn't sleep peacefully until I cleaned it.

So, it was about 1am in the morning when I finally decided to face the music - the music of nastiness, my friends. I mopped multiple times, using towels, using disinfectant, all the cleaning liquid I had... basically trying to GET EVERYONE'S NASTINESS OFF OF MY FLOOR. IT WAS VERY HUMBLING. I don't even know how to accurately describe the cleaning process in words. Just THINKING about what I was picking up with the towel made me gag. I believe I was able to handle it that time because I knew it was an experience that most people don't face... and that I would only face once in my life.

I shouldn't have thought that because... a few weeks later it happened AGAIN. This time, I came back from teaching class, saw it already flooding and leaking into my bedroom and FLIPPED OUT. I started crying, sort of. I do not want to admit to weakness, ha-ha, so let's just say I teared. I said to myself, "WHY ME AGAIN? WHY MUST I LIVE ON THE FIRST FLOOR?" I was burning with frustration and anger.

I ran (ok, not accurate - I actually biked furiously) to McDonalds (my refuge), ordered something, sat down, and opened my bible. I complained to God and wrote in my journal... but did not really read my bible. It just sat there open on the table. I had a prayer meeting with my friend later that day, and by that time I had cooled down and (grudgingly) accepted the fact that I must deal with it again.

I went home late again that day, DREADING EVERY STEP I TOOK THAT LED ME CLOSER, but when I got there, IT WAS ALL CLEAN! The cleaning ladies were nice enough to clean it for me this time. I was like, "HALLELUJAH, THE LORD IS WORTHY TO BE PRAISED! Wow!! Thanks, God. You are so nice to me! I was a crybaby, but you were so kind and patient..."

It made my apartment smell like fart for the rest of the year, even though I tried to mask it by opening windows, using air freshener, etc. eventually my nose got used to it, but I just felt bad for people who came over. I guess the good thing was that if you had to fart in my apartment, no one would know it was you - unless you made a noise and I heard. Then I would say, "Shame on you for farting in front of a girl!" ha-ha joke.

Lesson learned? That I am a very spoiled kid and the American sewage system (in my neighborhood at least) is something to be very thankful for.

Anonymous Student
Columbia University