Finding the Poo-petrator

It was one of those days I was conquering everything on my to do list.

I was just returning from the grocery after running a slew of errands and talking to a friend of mine on the phone who I’d been meaning to catch up with for a while.  I always wish I could be one of those girls who makes it look effortless to balance everything she’s got to do, but somehow as soon as I feel like I’m getting a leg up on my to-do list, something happens that sets me behind.

So as I was running my mouth to a friend, walking down the halls of my apartment complex with laptop and groceries in tow, I couldn’t believe I was so far ahead of schedule.

Then I yelled “Oh shit!” almost dropped my groceries and fell on my face as I dodged an actual pile of shit in the middle of the floor.

I stopped and looked around, perplexed at the fact that I live in a relatively nice building, yet somehow there is a person in this complex that seems to think it’s ok for their dog to relieve itself in the middle of the hallway.

I, being the classy lady I am, started swearing like a sailor and airing these concerns loudly over the phone to my friend as I unlocked the door to my apartment.

Once I was off the phone and had my groceries put away, I was stuck with a dilemma.  How do you casually break the news to the front desk that there’s a dog turd smack in the middle of the hallway?

Not to add to the fact that someone on staff would have to clean it up.  And it didn’t seem fair that should happen when it wasn’t one of their dogs using the hallways like their own personal bathroom.  And did the rules of “he who smelt it dealt it” apply to this situation?  By reporting the poo, would I be first on the list of suspects behind the hallway poo?

No, I don’t have a dog, so I’d be taken off that list quickly–God willing it wasn’t human and I missed the boat entirely with my identification.

Finally, I knew I had to report it when I thought about the fate that could have come to my beloved shoes.  I had almost ruined them and lost some teeth in the process of trying to save them.  I didn’t have the heart to let anyone else suffer such a terrible fate.

I marched down to report the accident and remembered that my building gets a saliva swab of all dogs who belong to the building upon move in so they have their DNA on file and can track if one does not clean up after his or her own animals.  I believe they refer to it as finding the “poo-petrator.”  (I wish I was making this word up but it was actually in the reading materials they gave me when I signed my lease.)

I’ve always had an innate sense of fighting for what I believe is right and just, and this situation was no exception.  I knew I wanted the poo-petrators to pay the fine for public defecation and any carpet cleaning costs.  The DNA test would answer any question of the criminal beyond a reasonable doubt.

As I walked past the scene of the crime, I smelled cleaning supplies.  I realized between the bitch fit I loudly threw in the hallway, the half hour it took me to put up my groceries and calm down, either someone else reported the mystery shit, or else the poo-petrator was guilted into cleaning up the mess after my loud, angry girl rant echoing the halls.

Either way, I saw it as justice being served.

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