Can I Borrow A...

As the fighting/sex sessions might have suggested, the upstairs tenants never really got around to settling in and moved out just months after they first showed up. Truck pulls out, new truck pulls in: Welcome New Upstairs-Neighbours.  They were a young couple, early 30s at the most, no kids of their own yet.  He was a mechanic or a delivery truck driver or something, and she ran a daycare from the upstairs apartment.  There were always kids running around in the daytime but they were usually gone by 6 pm.  Even if one stayed late, what's the pitter patter of a  30 lb kid compared to the slightly overweight ex-neighbours and their constant fighting and screwing.

One bitterly cold night I notice that there was an extra car in the shared drive, forcing me to park my half-ton way over at the edge. No big deal really, until I step out and get snow in the tops of my work boots.  A little grumpy, I stomped down the shared stairs and slammed the door to my apartment.  After dressing down and pouring a drink I heard a knock at my door.  Crap. They've heard my hissy-fit and I figure they are now coming down to apologize.   I put my drink out of sight and answer the door.

“Hi” she says.

“Hi” I say.

“…”

You know when someone is supposed to say the next thing?  She came down to talk to me and just stands there with a stupid grin on her face.  I’m really in no humour for this guessing game.

“Do you want something?” I asked in that sort of way that would let her know that I’m a little short on patience.

“I just thought that you should know that my sister is visiting and she just had a baby the other day.”

Great, I thought. You’re here to either hook me up with a single mom or you are really clueless about appropriate small talk.

“Wonderful, thanks for the heads up.” What else do you say?

“Actually, my sister just took her first poop after the birthing; she has been constipated for 2 days.”

Oh my God. 

“I’m so happy for you”, now piss off!  Holy frig, where’s my drink?

“I don’t mean to bother you but she plugged the toilet, can we borrow your plunger?”

At this time, I remembered back to when I first viewed the apartment.  McLandlord opened the door to the bathroom and proudly boasted that these brand new American Standard toilets were a marvel of engineering and that “this jack can flush the cobbler’s finest!” (translation: this toilet can flush a shoe).  If this poop is tougher than a shoe then I’m not losing my good plunger in this battle.

“I’m sorry but I don’t have a plunger,” I lied, “Maybe there’s one at the corner store that you can buy?”

“Oh no,” she says “It’s too cold, I don’t want to walk down there. Do you have a large wooden soup spoon that we could borrow to try and break up the poop?”

Now, I know what you are thinking.  There’s no way I’m telling the truth.  Nobody could be this absurd. Nobody could ask to BORROW a wooden spoon with the intent to RETURN it after using it to BREAK UP A TURD!  Well, believe it or not, that’s what happened.  At this point in the conversation, with my drink watered down from the ice and no food in my belly, I just shut the door, locked it, and cranked up that old radio.  All I could think was ‘God, please let these people move out soon.’