Shakin’ that stick and drivin’ me crazy
May 12, 2008 | 9:53 pm | Blog | El Perro, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? | 3
For those of you who know me and have already heard this rant, yes, I am still seething about this, and no, I will not get over it. For those of you who haven’t, the story that follows is pretty gross, both in terms of bodily functions and general human behavior. There is a picture at the end. Read on if you have the fortitude.
A few Fridays ago I took The Gus to Memorial Park for our weekly Happy Hour run. This is the ceremonial start to my weekend and it makes me feel good about myself to get out there and get sweaty and then wash everything down with a cold, golden libation. Gus loves it because it give him a chance to commune with other dogs and be outside in the sunshine and get lots of attention from suckers who think he is cute.
I park by the pool. This parking lot is small bit of a walk across a grassy, tree-studded lawn to the 3-mile gravel loop where I run. When I run I ALWAYS carry poop bags (in a handy leash clip thingy), and I always pick up my poop, even in the grass in front of my house, because it drives me crazy when other people don’t and as Gandhi once said, we must be the change we want to see in the world.
So there I was, walking from the car to the loop when suddenly Gus has a major scatological accident. It is foul, explosive and watery and there is a lot of it. Like, a whole lot. I kind of try to drag his macaroni-curled body over to the nearest tree to at least get it out of the way of where someone may walk but I am happy for the fact that we are not yet on the running trail. Most of what he has to eliminate comes out in the beginning, but he still spends a good five minutes curled up, trying to squeeze what little remains out. I see that he is making no progress and so I try and coax him to give up. “Come on, Gus, let’s go little buddy.”
As he’s straining I consider how best to proceed. For as you may have surmised, it is literally impossible to pick up a puddle. I look for some dirt I can kick over the shit to at least absorb some of it but there is none nearby. I try to pull some grass to throw onto it but the grass is too short to do much good. I give up and continue to attempt to coax Gus along, and as I’m waiting for him to unclench I look up and see a woman about 50 yards away, stopped in the middle of the drive, starting at me out of her car window. She has a five-pound fluff of white fur sitting on her lap. I wonder if I know her, she is staring at me so intently, wonder if she is a member of my running club who I don’t happen to recognize.
Gus finally heeds my calls and heels up next to me so I continue my path across the drive and towards the loop. As I begin to run the lady in the red car follows me and pulls off to the side where I am running, rolling down her window.
“Excuse me,” she says. “Is there a reason why you aren’t picking up after your dog?”
It is at this moment, friends, when I make the crucial mistake. I should have ignored her, told her to mind her own business. But instead I feel the overwhelming need to explain myself to this stranger.
“I would,” I say, “but he has an upset stomach and it’s, uhhh, un-pickup-able.”
“Well I just think that’s disgusting. Maybe you shouldn’t bring your dog to the park when it has diarrhea.”
Again, I feel the need to explain. “It *just* happened. Look, lady, I have bags,” I hold them up so she can see. “I always pick up, I just couldn’t this time. It’s not like I brought him out here knowing he was sick!”
“This park is for everyone, you know, and I just can not believe people like you come here and let their dog shit all over where other people walk. Maybe you should just go home!”
And so it went, for about 10 long minutes, her basically screaming at me in view of everyone and me stammering in vain to defend myself, explain myself to this stranger because for some stupid ridiculous reason I do not want to be seen as an irresponsible pet owner in the eyes of someone I have just met and will never see again. Seriously, this lady was *yelling* at me, and the only thing that could end the standoff was me telling her to STFU and running away. Literally. I ran away.
But at that point I was so worked up I was almost on the verge of tears, which is how I manifest stress, and which makes things pretty inconvenient during confrontational situations. My heart was racing so fast and my limbs trembling with such verocity that I couldn’t even run anymore and so I had to sit down on a park bench and chill out for another 15 minutes before I could get up and run again. During that time a nice, sane woman, also with a dog in her car, pulls up next to me to say “Don’t let that bitch ruin your day! You have him on a leash and you have bags. Accidents happen!”
When I finally do finish my run I find my friend Diana and some other people gathered around the picnic table and I relay my story to her. “Fuck her!” Diana says but it still doesn’t make me feel better. “Think about what kind of life that woman lives. She’s probably going to go home and sit on her couch and think to herself ‘I did the right thing today.’ How pathetic!”
“What did she look like,” Diana asks.
“She was young, actually, and she was driving a red sports car and she had a little yippy dog on her lap. In fact, she was kinda pretty.”
“No, what exactly did she look like? What color was her hair?”
“She was white with long dark hair, straight. She looked tall and skinny.”
Diana disappears in the direction of her car. A few minutes later she returns. “I have something for you,” she says, and this is what she thrusts towards me:
It’s a voodoo doll. An effigy of the Poop Patrol, made out of dog poop bags and random paper towels floating around in Diana’s car. And it made me feel better immediately.
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i am so with you on this one. i had JUST gotten a rental car and didn’t know where the parking break was. some woman, with the same description as yours, pulled up and started yelling at me that i was blocking the parking lot. i was, but there was also a whole other area she could’ve parked. i told her that i just got the car and didn’t know how to work it yet and she said, “Well maybe you shouldn’t be driving it!” i was shocked and so pissed i didn’t even remember to tell her that it wasn’t my fault the rental car guy parked it here. she continued and the whole thing ended with me telling her to get the fuck over it and driving away unnecessarily close to her car. but obvs i am still pissed about the whole thing.
I hate people like that. You can’t reason with them. I swear, the next time this kind of shit happens to me, I’m going to pull the crazy routine:
Meanie: “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Me: “Is that my fucking sweater?”
Meanie: “…What?”
Me: “Shhhhhh…. They’re filming.”
Meanie: “…I don’t know… what you’re-”
Me: “Would you like a raddish? I have a dozen in my back pocket and they’re fresh.” (As I pat the top of my head.)
And the meanie squeals the tires getting the hell out of Dodge. Remember, crazy ALWAYS wins.
Aw, man. That’s a terrible way to end a week. Mean people suck.