What a Pisser

Ok, so here's how it happened.
Originally, my garbage disposal was broken. I'd flip the switch, and nothing would happen. The drainage wasn't even working, so I couldn't use that side of the sink at all. It had been like this for months, but I never took the time to call someone to come and fix it. Lazy? No. Careless? Probably. Pre-occupied? Yeah.
So, finally I clean my appartment (not that it needed it much, but I did it) and called the leasing office to have them send a maintence person to come and fix my faulty garbage disposal. They told me they'd have someone come out the next day, which was great, because I don't want to be here when they're fixing it. A disfunctional garbage disposal that doesn't drain, sitting for a few months, probably stinks really bad.
I go to work the next day. It was a regular day at work, and I came home just before the sun set. I was curious about my garbage disposal, and wondered what it'd be like to use both sides of my sink; what it'd be like to have a garbage disposal again. So I unlocked my door, closed the door, locked my door, flipped off my shoes and set my keys down in their usual spot on my kitchen counter and turned the faucet on. I flipped the electric switch for my garbage disposal, and gave a triumphant, "ha HA!" at the rumble and gurgling I'd been missing out on for months. This bad boy was rarin' ta' go.
I turned off the switch, and continued on with my typical ritual I went through after coming home from work. I pulled the two latex rubber bands from my hair, appreciative that they didn't break and that this brand of latex rubberbands have never snapped on me yet. I took off my belt, and hung it from one of the grilled racks that lined my walk in closet, and then stripped until I has nude. I left my room, heading for the shower, stepped into the bathroom and had one of those nerve-shocking surprises run through my body as my bare foot clapped moistly into a shallow puddle in my bathroom.
I stopped immediately, one foot in the bathroom, one out, and looked down at the floor, staring into the puddle that tainted my bathroom floor with a sickly yellow color. "... what the hell?!" I mumbled out loud. My first thought was, Does the toilet have a leak? Great... totally fits the pattern of my life. Get the garbage disposal fixed, the toilet breaks. F***ing hell. But then as I retracted my foot from the puddle and tried to fling some of the mystery fluid off with a flick of my ankle, I realized that toilets don't leak yellow water. Not only that, but there was a putrid stench in this bathroom that aroused a new theory as to what this puddle really consisted of.
".. ugh..." Someone pissed all over my bathroom floor! They even sprayed all over my toilet seat, not having the courtesy to lift it up. Disgusting bastards! I deduced it had to have been the maintenance person who came to fix my garbage disposal. I carefully stretched over the broad puddle of pee, careful not to step in it again, and got some toilet paper to wipe off my wet foot. I did so, and hurried into the kitchen to grab my phone and call up the leasing office.
"Hi, this is William in 2015, 19B. I had someone come over and fix my garbage disposal earlier today while I was at work. I just came home, and the garbage disposal is working fine, but... uhhh... someone peed all over my bathroom." The person over the phone seemed as puzzled as I was by this, and questioned me a bit about the severity of the situation.
"Yeah, there's a big puddle of pee on my bathroom floor, and it looks like they caught the cabinet, even went for the sink, and the tub, too."
"No, I live alone with two cats, actually... and they're litter trained. I mean, that's a lot of pee for some cats, and it sure doesn't smell like cat pee."
"Ok, yeah... sure.. you can call me back at this number. Alright, thanks." The man on the other end needed a moment to figure out what to do next apparently, and probably went to consult his manager. I recognized the man on the phone, Dave was his name. He was a pretty cool guy, very polite and accomodating. I predicted he'd call me back fairly shortly.
While I waited, I figured there was no point standing around nude. I wouldn't be taking a shower for awhile, so I got dressed. As I was doing so, my phone rang, and I knew it'd be Dave.
"Hello?"
"Hi."
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. No one else has any keys for my appartment, and I just got home from work. It had to be your maintenance guy."
"Well, I'm not sure either... kind of an unexpected situation, when your repair guy pees all over people's floor."
"Ha ha! No... I'm not going to clean that up. Actually, I'd like the guy who did it to come here and clean it up. Soon, if possible."
"Yeah... ok, thanks."
"Yep, good bye."
Dave decided that this was an acceptable comprimise, to have the spraying maintenance man come and clean up his own piss on my floor. He was now on the prowl to get a hold of the culprit, and would call me back when he got results. It didn't take long; I had just turned the computer on and was logging into Myspace when he called me back.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Dave."
"Oh, alright. Sounds good."
"Hey, eh.. no problem... it wasn't you who peed on my floor, so don't worry about it."
"No problem, alright good bye, Dave."
I hung up. The pissing man arrived twenty minutes later. I went to greet him. Opening the door revealed a very melancholy character; short for a man, and a grim face painted with miserable, humiliating defeat. He was very scruffy looking, having not shaved for about a week and a half, and wore a dingy, old baseball cap that fit snug. His hair underneath was buzzed to no more than half an inch, and there were heavy sags of skin hanging from his dull blue eyes. He was holding a mop with one hand, and the other held a bucket with some cleaning supplies stuffed in it. The man stood silently, looking back at me as I took his appearance.
"Hi," I said warmly to him. He didn't respond. Not at first, anyway. It took him a few long, drawn out moments of silence before he decided to reply.
"Hi," he meakly said back to me.
"Umm..." I started and I perked a singular, curious brow at him. "Are you the guy.. who peed on my floor?"
There was another pause, and this time it was even longer, but he eventually responded. He gave me nothing but a slow and feeble nod of his head.
"Oh... ok. Well, the garbage disposal works now. Thanks for that. I don't think I have to show you where the bathroom is, soooo....." I stepped aside, leaving the door wide open, and extended my arm out into to my apartment, gesturing him to come in. He shuffled past slowly, and I closed the door behind him.
Now, I wasn't going to watch the man as he cleaned. I'm sure he was already humiliated enough with having to clean up his own mess. So, I put Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas into my DVD player, and plopped onto my couch, ever aware of the disgusting bacteria that was probably crawling all over the bottom of my foot. Not only that, but I hadn't showered yet since I'd been home. This was uncomfortable for me, I felt like I was smearing filth over my prestine living space. But it really couldn't be helped. I only hoped this guy did a good job cleaning up his urine, and then I'd be able to shower and relax for the rest of the night.
I got about ten minutes into the movie. I was at the part where Dr. Hunter S. Thompson had offered some Ether to the poor sap they'd picked up on the side of the road, and had begun to explain/rant to him about his and his legal assistant's aspirations for the American Dream when I was interrupted by a suspicious sound. A loud and heavy thud had come from down the hallway, in the direction of the bathroom.
I took a moment to contemplate whether I should see what it was. Even when I started hearing a faint choking and gurgling sound, I still paused to consider what I should do. I didn't want to interrupt his cleaning, and perhaps he just had a phlemn problem and was trying to clear his throat? I concluded it was best to check and be safe. Who cares if I made him feel uncomfortable by seeing this guy clean up his own pee. It was my bathroom, and he peed all over it! Pissing bastard.
I peeked my head around the threshold of the bathroom in a subtle fashion, and was immediately dumbstruck with what I saw. The puddle on the floor had grown, and now there was pee droplets rolling down my damn mirror! The guy even took the effort to close the drain on my sink, and left a small resevoir of urine inside of it! The asshole even caught my toothbrush and hair brush that I reluctantly left out in the open on the counter, vulnerable to crazy maintenance and repair men who fixed garbage disposals and pissed all over tenant's bathrooms!
Aside from that, the sick, sad looking fellow lay collapsed in the tub with his legs hanging over the ledge. His eyes were open very wide, streaked and bloodshot. His mouth hung open and twisted to one side of his face. His teeth were stained purple, and a purple secretion oozed from the corner of his lips. By the empty, oblivious gaze into nowhere that he gave told me he was dead. I was pretty sure, but I wasn't going to walk over his pee to check. There really was no point hurrying for an ambulance. Even if he wasn't dead yet, well... the bastard peed on my floor.
Instead, I went back to the phone in the kitchen and called the leasing office. "Hi, Dave. It's William again."
"No, he's here. But ummm... I think he's dead."
"Yeah, I dunno. I let him do his thing, you know... and then I heard a bump and some choking or something. I went in to check, and the guy's collapsed in my tub with some purple stuff coming out of his mouth. I think he drank some concentrate cleaner or something. Oh, yeah! By the way.. he peed on my floor again!"
Dave was getting repetative... he couldn't stop saying "What?!!" over the phone to me.
"Yeah, he frickin' pissed all over the place in there. Even on the mirror, Dave! What's with that?!"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's dead. I mean.. I didn't check for a pulse... I'd have to walk on pee for that... and that's not something I'm really willing to do."
"Alright, bye."
Dave's voice had gone shakey by the end of my conversation with him. He had decided to call an ambulance. I sighed and put the phone down, not sure what to do now. I took a moment to think, and decided I should probably just go wait outside in my car for the ambulance to come. I turned off Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, got my socks and shoes on, grabbed my keys and headed outside into the parking lot.
It was a warm day out, so I rolled down a window and played some music as I sat on my trunk, waiting for the ambulance. They were quicker than I though. I wasn't even able to get halfway through the second song before they came wailing down the street in that exciting way that they do. I noticed my neighboring tenants peeking out their windows to see where the ambulance was going, a semi-hopeful glint in their eyes that it was heading here. Today was their lucky day.
The ambulence team hurried here and about as I sat on the trunk of my car, not offering to give any information or guidance as to where to go, or what happened. I simply watched as a few police cars came, and then a firetruck parked along the main road. It was all a little over-done, I thought, but whatever gets the job done I suppose. Who am I to question the methods of retrieving dead sloppy-pissing people? I was too concerned with contemplating who they might send out to clean my bathroom now, if anyone.
So, as I'm watching the hustle, suddenly a woman paramedic bursts out of the front door to the appartment building. She was quite frantic, and screaming sobs of some kind of terror and deep sorrow. I couldn't figure out if she was just freaked out by the body, or what. I thought she'd have more of a stomach for that kind of thing, considering her profession. Then, finally I was able to make out a few comprehensive syllables in her dramatic weeping as she ran past me and down the parking lot, towards the road.
"Oh my God, Stan!!!" Is all that I got out of what she said, before she ran into the middle of the street and get smacked by a silver Mitsubishi Eclipse. Where ever she was running to in her panic, it was not a good idea going there without checking both ways before screaming and sobbing across the street. She was tossed into the air and landed on the windshield, rolling over the top of the car and then off to the side with a sickening plop of her limp body onto the asphalt.
".... whoa..... " I said. If I smoked, I would have lit a cigerette then, and I thought to myself, if I smoked.. I'd have a cigerette right now. But I don't smoke, so I didn't. I watched the reaction of the ambulance crew as they momentarily lost their professional faces, and panicked before collecting their nerves and split in two teams; one for the mad paramedic woman, and one for the purple cleaner concentrate guzzling pisser.
I found out later that the woman who stampeded into a Mitsubishi Eclipse was the sister of the a man who's name was Stan, who fixed garbage disposals and fucking peed all over my bathroom mirror, left a pool of urine in my sink, and sprayed his mark across my bathroom floor and in my tub. That explained why she was so upset, but why go running across the street without looking? That's just plain unsafe. Someone once told me that safety is no accident. I think this is all a good demonstration of how true this saying is.
Too late now, though. The paramedic woman is in a coma, the Mitsubishi has a huge dent on the hood, a spiderwebbed crack on the windshield, and my bathroom is still ridden with puddles of pee. I wasn't allowed back in my appartment, so I got my cats and some clothes and headed to my parents for awhile. No one's gotten back to me about who'll clean the piss up, yet. It's a bit frusterating, and I hope they don't take it out of my security deposit. That'd totally fit the pattern of my life. But, if they try to pull that, I think I'll pee all over in there too.