The shit hit the fan ...

---

and the walls,
and the ceiling,
and the carpet,
and the bathrooms,
and the doors,
and the showers,
and the memories of Tanner and Rachel.

If you have any poo, fling it now.

--
Mason the Chimpanzee, Madagascar

What I'm about to tell you is probably the most disturbing/fantastic/epic travelin' story ever told. It's Lord of the Rings meets Lord of the Flies meets poop. Like all tales, my story has a beginning ...

On a typical morning at Base hostel in Wellington (groggy and obnoxious ... never stay at this hostel if you can help it), I woke from a post-Friday-night slumber. Our weird roommate (we are in a four-bed dorm) was missing ... which isn't surprising considering the fact he wakes up promptly at 6 a.m. to watch TV all day in the common room. The Wellington wind was thrashing against our windows (this capital's gust is North Carolina's hurricane ... it gets up to 100 km/hr). So everything seemed the way it should. Little did I know ...

I took several seconds to relieve the pain jetting from my neck (the pillows here resemble cottage cheese) and -- like all alcohol-induced conditions -- heard the wild call of the bathroom. But something was waiting for me outside my dorm, something ...

I walked out, slowly as to not wake Rachel (who -- on good days -- sleeps to 7 p.m.). The bathroom is only about six steps away from our humble bunk beds, but I knew something didn't smell quite right ...

At first, I thought I saw “throw-up” to my left on the floor, outside my neighbor’s door. This being a Saturday morning, I took the sight as something not so atypical. I also saw some "throw-up" on the walls -- on all the walls. Even then, I presumed I was witnessing the remnants of a really, really bad night. As I entered the bathroom, choosing my steps very carefully, that is when I realized the awful truth: The poop had indeed missed the fan, and hit everything else.

Shit (human doo-doo) covered everything ... all over the bathrooms (male and -- later discovered -- female), carpet, mirrors, etc. Someone had a long night of finger painting and a crap-mural to show for it. You could see the hand-prints, he - in the literal sense - got his hands dirty.

All jokes aside, this was a really sadistic, disrespectful thing to do. Of course, we moved to another floor (most people didn't oddly enough). But the most despicable part is someone had to clean up that shit storm. I worked for accommodation a couple of nights at Base and got to know Antonio, one of the hostel's managers who supervises the cleaning crews. That glorious man had to disinfect the second floor and find some of this asshole’s more clever hiding spots of dookie (behind toilets, under floor mats, on soap bars).

Antonio said that he caught who did it ... some Swedish guy (not our weird roommate, thank god). I tried to explain to Antonio that Rachel and I are convinced one guy couldn't produce all of that poop (and it was too slurpy-esque to be stored poop). But as you can imagine, the conversation just got kind of awkward.

The only way to end this post is to share my three favorite quotes from the whole ordeal:

1. After I called (I wasn’t going to walk down for obvious reasons) reception to tell them about the feces zoo, this buzzed from the p.a. system: “Good morning Base visitors, if you would like to work for accommodation this morning, we just had some openings. Just talk to us at the front desk.”
2. Antonio: “This happens every once in awhile. It’s usually worse.”
3. Rachel: “This shit is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.”

PS -- You might not believe any of this, but ... ahem ... I shit you not.

(No pictures will ever be published in this blog ... ever)

---

Comments

[Brooke]

A-M-A-Z-I-N-G
This posting just absolutely made my life at the bank in my little cubicle at 7pm waiting for dinner to be delivered seem very good. I am literally cracking up hysterically and no one knows what's wrong with me. Best blog ever. Hands down.