Dead Flesh

Pooping in Ninety-Six.

So today I went to work with my mother. She works for a property management company, she deals with many different apartment complexes throughout the upstate of South Carolina. Since I was in elementary school, my mother has had this same job. When I was younger I would always go into the empty apartments on the complex and help fix them up, so that new residents could move in. It’s been a while since I’ve done that, but today my mother asked me to come with her to a particular complex in Ninety-Six, SC. So this is where our story begins.

It was a bit of a long car ride to the location, much longer of a car ride than I prefer. We picked up breakfast from a small coffee shop. I had a breakfast sandwich with sausage, egg, and cheese, so by the time we got into the empty apartment I was working on that day, I had to release my bowels. Being sure to grab my iPod for entertainment, I rushed to the small, uncomfortable bathroom. The bathroom itself was not in bad shape as far as cleanliness goes, save for the dead cockroaches on the floor. The pest control guy was nice enough to blow up the place for bugs, but of course, the dead insects are left behind. Sitting on the toilet playing Army of Darkness, a thought came to me: nobody has lived in this apartment for a month, therefore, it’s most likely that no one has used this bathroom, or toilet, in a month. That’s when I realized how foolish I was. While in my frenzy to get to the bathroom, I forgot to grab toilet paper.

Sitting on this rather uncomfortable toilet, I felt defeated. I pondered what I might do to come out on top on this situation. The napkins I had in my pockets just moments ago (leftover from the coffee shop) were left in the car. There was no sort of papers in my pocket, and there was nothing but dead critters in the bathroom. I was running out of options. I was considering just jumping in the shower but then it hit me. My mother gathered supplies from the maintenance shed, supplies that I might need for sprucing up the apartment. She told me she’d left them on the counter in the kitchen area, which was down the hallway and nearly on the other side of the apartment. So I did what any man would do. I waddled to the kitchen with my pants around my ankles, all the while humming along to “My Parents Manage Apartments” by Destroy Nate Allen. Scared to death that someone, like my mother or another employee of the complex would burst through the door and catch me in this vulnerable moment, God so graciously kept that from happening.

When I arrived to the counter, I discover hidden among the brushes, paint, and all-purpose cleaner, the answer to my problem- heavy duty paper towels. Whether that’s what they are actually called, I do not know, but I thank the human being for inventing it, whatever the proper name for the object is. Thick, blue, and a lot rougher than Charmin Ultra, there was only one sheet here. But believe me, one sheet was more than enough. This is my story, and I’ll choose to stop here, before we get into any further details.