I've had a few things vying for my writing attention this morning, but ever since I took seven steps out my front door, I had something else to write about. Yes, exactly seven steps.
Why seven steps?
Because that is how many it is down the first flight of stairs in our communal hallway to get outside, but let me start at the beginning.
This morning Hermione woke me up, as usual, by squawking from her crate. Today, her anxious squeaks came at around 7:30, which isn't too bad and I rolled out of bed to bring her for her first "potty" break of the day. I muddled through the preparations to take her out still half asleep as I had gone to bed a bit later than normal. I managed to struggle into a pair of pants; dropped her leash twice, but finally got it clipped to her collar; and then headed out the door. Did I mention I was half asleep? If I hadn't been, perhaps the little accident that happened next could have been avoided. Then again, perhaps not because if I would have been awake, I would have been moving at a much faster pace and things could have been much more disastrous.
Yesterday was a big "football" (AKA soccer) game here in Scotland and everyone started drinking early. Okay, maybe not everyone because we definitely weren't involved in the celebrations, but practically everyone. The pubs were over flowing and Tenie said she heard people off to the pub at 9:00 AM. So, it was no surprise to Mr. K and I that a few of our neighbours were slightly intoxicated. The only thing is that one of our neighbours is frequently intoxicated. Most weekends, there is a night where he passes out in the stairwell and usually ends up urinating. It is normally cleaned up early in the morning and I never would have known if Mr. K wasn't a night owl. This particular neighbour also will spit on the stairs, but again, it is usually quickly cleaned up. Apparently yesterday's festivities were too much for him because he, according to Mr. K, came home around 2 or 3 AM and planted himself out in the communal hallway and proceeded to puke. Do you see where I'm going with this?
So, this morning, half asleep and unsuspecting little me, is carrying Hermione down the stairs to go out to pee and when my right foot hit the second to last step in the first flight of stairs, I slipped and went down on my right elbow. Thankfully, somehow, I managed to keep a hold of Hermione and she landed on top of me. I had no idea what had happened until I tried to stand back up and felt squishing/sliming/watery grossness under my feet. There was so much of it that my feet kept sliding out from underneath me and if I hadn't had a good hold of the bannister, I would have fallen back down. The worst part was the smell. I nearly cried. There I stood, puppy clutched in my arms, my elbow throbbing and someone else's cold, stinky vomit soaking through my running shoe on to my barefoot and dripping down my leg. The whole right side of my leg was covered and it had also soaked through to my skin. The elbow of my coat was covered and I only knew that because I reached to check my elbow to make sure it wasn't broken and consequently stuck my hand into it. All I could do was stand there in disbelief. This was something that happened in movies or books, not in real life.
At first, I turned around to take Hermione back up to our flat, but all I could hear was the dog trainer voice screaming in the back of my mind about consistency. So, I trudged down the other forty something stairs and outside to let her relieve. To be honest, I only got through her going pee. I could smell the vomit and definitely could feel it and I was starting to freak out. I tried to stay patient and positive singing, "go potty, Hermione. Get busy little miss," but my patience were slipping and the second rule to dog training is positivity. The sun was shining and Hermione was more interested in sniffing the various objects the drunk people had left behind from the night before and I was still covered in puke. So, I scooped her up, in my non-vomit covered arm, and made my way back inside. I stripped everything off and threw it into the washing machine and threw my shoes into the garbage. Thankfully, they had been an old pair that I had just replaced and since the vomit had soaked through the mesh on the sides of the shoe, there really was no salvaging them. I then went and woke up Mr. K to share my traumatic experience.
I can laugh about it now, mostly anyway, but I definitely was not laughing as I relayed the events to Mr. K. When I get angry, I become very quiet and it's a sort of deep, quiet bubbling rage. He got out of bed and wrote a note that he taped up. It read something like:
Whoever vomited in the stairs, please clean it up. I have covered it up with garbage bags, but my wife, who is blind, slipped in it and fell down the stairs.
He originally was going to go over and knock on the door to tell the man to clean up his mess, but he was afraid he would "smash him into the ground like a tent pole." So, he decided the note was a better option; especially since he does not want to be deported.
I'm not sure I've ever experienced something so disgusting before, and believe me, I've experienced some pretty gross things. I've had a dog have diarrhea on my lap; cleaned up a drunk friend after a night of too much fun; had a seagull poop on my bare leg from the sky Etc. This definitely takes the prize for "most disgusting." I'm sorry to be graphic, but when there is a lake of vomit covering an entire stairway landing, that is gross.
Mr. K and I have vowed that if he is ever out in that stairway again, drunk of course, we'll be calling the police. Sure, it was gross, but I'm so lucky that I didn't break anything or hurt Hermione. The stairs are these old, cement stairs, worn away from use for a very long time. They are so worn, there is a groove in the middle of each stair where people walked up and down them. We walk on the outside to avoid this very smooth, rounded, slightly treacherous area. As much as I'm griping about getting plastered in puke, things could have been much worse. That said, I was still covered in vomit and somehow I still managed to take my puppy out to potty; at least to get her peeing done.
Now, that is dedication. Don't you think?
Not to mention, that man drank so much that he was able to make a puke lake. That in and of itself is dedication as well. Perhaps not healthy dedication, but dedication nevertheless.