Crappy Morning, Literally – There Was Crap (A Lot of It)

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This morning started off pretty damn good. That should’ve been a sign already. Good mornings for me are a karmic warning that things are going to go south. Like the cramps before your period. Good mornings are my cramps.

I woke up, felt great, and went to the market just outside my door to do my shopping for the next few days. I love going to the market on Friday mornings. Waking up to a bunch of smiling faces, anxious to take your cash in exchange for fresh herbs can never be a bad thing!

And … it’s Friday. Friiiiiiidaaaaaaaaaaay. This means that I get to walk into the office, and yell with my grinniest grin, “Haaaaaaaaaapppppyy Frriiiiiiiiiidaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyy,” and watch as my colleagues roll their eyes at the incredible optimistic-anglophone idiot. (They secretly love it, I suspect. If not just for the opportunity to make fun of me a little—they are French after all.)

Despite the promising debut of today, and the fact that the weekend is only a few short hours from now, a surprise awaited me. A smelly surprise.

I walked out of the metro, smile-on-face, whistling, actually whistling, my way to the job I have come to loathe when: Someone’s bowels exploded. No, no. I’m serious. EX. PLO. DED. Wouldn’t at all be surprised if bits of his innards were mixed in there.

Watch your step in front of the stairs at La Defense, because you may end up playing slip and slide on a pile of excrement so copious, that it makes that triceratops’ dump from Jurassic Park look like a Chihuahua’s.

The poo wasn’t just there. It was everywhere. Long smears of mysterious dried brown filth were littered with clumps. It looked like the pooper was so pleased by his creation that he decided to do a happy dance in it.

The saddest part in all this? I was so busy whistling, that I … yuck … took a step into it. You read that right. I stepped in human poop today. A big gob of it. (Another pair of shoes that I need to throw away now.) At first I was like, “Where’d all this mud come from?” and then I took a breath. And consequently, wanted to hurl.

The A-holes at RATP didn’t even mark it off. They were already on my bad side for the early (the nerve, I know, right?) trains, heated cabins in midsummer, and general “we’re on vacation, so you’ll get one train in an hour” attitude but … COME ON!! There’s a drop of water on the ground and you get the “Caution” sign. Vacation or no, they should’ve quarantined the shit-littered area, put up those toxic waste signs, and doused everyone with antibacterial spray.

And so, I say to you all, happy Friday.


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