E-book is here. Buy up, bitches.
I probably shouldn’t be committing this to pixels; this confession may come back to haunt me. But I can’t hold back any longer: internet? I destroyed someone else’s property. And it was SOOOOO satisfying.
I don’t want you to think that I am some great disrespecter of property rights. I mean, despite the fact that I keep books much, MUCH longer than I should (and occasionally dump sodas on them, sorry about that, local library), I am generally pretty good about other people’s stuff. I chalk this up to being the youngest of three children and the baby sister of a girl with personal space issues and an itchy trigger finger. To whit: there was a period in my sister’s life when I couldn’t so much as look at her belongings without her screaming, “Mah-ooom, she’s touching my STUFF!” I learned to leave other people’s things alone at a young age, largely because Catherine is a big giant boo-boo head.
But I digress.
So yeah, I’m pretty good at respecting other’s property, but I’ve also got kind of a sensitive nose and an EXTREMELY short temper. Which is unfortunate for the autodysomophobe who works in my office and uses the public bathroom on my floor, because dude. DUDE. I appreciate the fact that some people are more sensitive to the smell of poo than others, and I am sympathetic to the desire to cover that shit up (literally). I am even sympathetic to irrational fears, because as time has gone on I’ve had to admit that my feelings about bugs don’t just verge on phobia: they are a phobia, and a semi-serious one at that.
Truly, when you can’t even have a BUTTERFLY land on you because you hate its creepy, creepy legs, you know you’ve got a problem. And that problem is that YOU HAVE NO SOUL.
I’m sympathetic. I’m understanding. I’m just tired of sneezing every time I go take a piss. Because I am not even making this up: ever since I have worked in this building, the lady with the fear of bad smells has walked into the bathroom with a can of air freshener, spraying all the way to the stall. And then she does her business and comes spraying back out. And although even the nicest, most expensive air freshener would have gotten old by this point, she’s never used that. Oh, no. Only the cheapest, most chemical-smelling stuff possible!
One day she came in spraying Febreeze. FEBREEZE. That stuff KILLS! Seriously, a friend of my mom’s was out walking and happened to be holding a bottle of Febreeze at the time (no idea why, move on), and he came upon a baby snake in the grass. Unfortunately, he reacted out of instinct and immediately sprayed said baby snake. Which immediately died.
AND YOU’RE SPRAYING THAT TO COVER UP THE SMELL OF MY SHIT? NO THANKS!
Anyway, I don’t know what happened, but apparently someone finally took her aside and was like, “This is ridiculous, and also? How much money are you spending on air freshener anyway?” So she stopped spraying, and instead two little Renuzit dispensers appeared in the bathroom.
You would think this was an improvement. IT WAS NOT AN IMPROVEMENT.
According to the label, this stuff was supposed to smell like rain? It did not smell like rain. Maybe acid rain. Maybe a CHEMICAL DEATH BATH. In any case, it was not the solution to our problem—in fact, instead of just making me sneeze, it also made me cough and choke and want to throw up. Every time I went to do my business, I had to hold my breath and RUN FOR IT when I was done.
And the other day, I can’t explain it—I just snapped. I was sitting in the stall where one of the air fresheners had been deployed (I would say “placed,” but we’re talking about a chemical weapon, here), and something in me just went, “Awww, HAYL NO.” I picked up the “freshener,” opened the door, peeked around the bathroom, and then furtively darted over to the trash can. And then I threw the air freshener in with all my might.
There was some RAGE fueling that throw, y’all, cause that poor thing tunneled all the way to bottom of the paper towel pile. I gazed upon my work, and found it good.
Bit then I sniffed, and realized that THAT SMELL was still there—and not at the bottom of a trash can.
I looked, and beheld another air freshener at the end of the bathroom.
And y’all, I’m not proud of this part, but…I sprinted to the other end of the bathroom. I grabbed that air freshener, and then sprinted back to the trash can. And I was giggling. Oh yes, there was giggling.
I’m not proud of the fact that I threw that second air freshener away, just like I threw the first one.
But I am happy that I can breathe.
PS: the air fresheners were back, in the same “fragrance,” two days later. It doesn’t smell as bad for some reason, so I’m letting it go…for now. If I get a moment alone, though, I may throw them away again. You know. Out of spite To make a point.