Oh Shit!

The lighter side of having my apartment repainted while on drugs with certain unpleasant side effects.

A great Human Interest story, no?

So great, they got started.

What I don't understand is how they went through the kitchen so quickly (even though they were raiding the frij when I went out to get a giant economy size package of Charmin) and then took the rest of the day in the bath. Which, on his particular day, I happened to not want to be far from. I will explain.

Like many old farts, I suffer from a now and then condition known as gout. My Primary Care physician asserts that the attacks are brought on by excessive consumption of Heineken, but what the hell does he know? 

Now, if you have ever had gout, you know that - untreated - it is extremely painful. Imaging the worst headache you have ever had, throw in an impacted molar and drop a bowling ball on your foot, and you'll start to get the idea. It usually affects the large toe but can be in any joint.

In order to avoid this agony, one can take a wonder drug known as colchicine. It really halts the buildup of uric acid, but it has the aforementioned side effect. It induces PTD or Pseudo Terminal Diarrhea. You aren't gonna die, but sometimes you wish you would. That's right, the drizzly shits. And I mean Big Time. Which is why I went to the store and ended up with a package of salami, half a loaf of Russian rye and two large purple onions disappearing. The evidence was breath-taking but I didn't say anything, lest the workers be offended and paint all the kitchen drawers shut. (Only two required a crowbar to open).

Well, while they were in there in the bathroom, belching up WMDs, I busied myself at the computers, pretending that I can run Linux from the command line, and dreading the first onslaught of high pressure liquefied shit that would turn my asshole into a raging inferno of the first magnitude. And searching frantically for a secondary receptacle.

Finally, they were done for the day, and the nice job they did was complete, except for the floor. It is made of concrete, and so I got a nice carpet to avoid cold feet in the morning. And other times, depending on my, well, condition.

The shower curtain was ruined (I get new ones tomorrow hold your breath knock on wood etc.) so I used it to cover the floor which had tacky paint dripped on it, and as my bowels were not yet in an uproar, I started moving things back in. Dozens of vitamin bottles and shampoo and whatever else were in a large plastic bag, which I was soon to discover was not made by the Hefty people.

The good news is that it didn't break until I had it almost on the shelf, so only a few things fell out.

One of them was a quart of vinegar, which, naturally, broke on the hard floor. Fortunately, the shower curtain caught most of the pungent fluid, and most of the impact was on the floor. Most. But as luck would have it, my foot caught part of it, and naturally it was the toe in question.

(Screams and expletives deleted due to space limitations and inability to remember the specifics)

So, I started to clean it up, wondering what else had broken. I don't have any red shampoo or ... SHIT! No, not literally. Just an expression of delayed reaction pain. It wasn't a bad cut, but the vinegar didn't help any.

I got it all cleaned up, and improvised a Band-Aid with the duct tape I obediently purchased a few weeks ago, and put the carpet back in place, then went back to Gnome when the first attack came. Shit. (Literally, this time).

I hobbled back to the bathroom as well as I could with my bum foot, and well...

I remember a time when just about everything was Made In USA. But nowadays, most of it comes from China. And while some of it is very good, like the boots I got from Timberland the day before they went on sale, some things are not. Like the solid oak toilet seat I paid Brownie's Hardware twenty-six bucks for. A week after I got it, one of the hinges broke, so the seat part slides sideways... sometimes.

As I flopped down, the first salvo was bursting forth under pressure the fire department can only dream about. I thought I had myself centered, but at the last second, well that broken hinge got even for all the names I called it and I skewed sideways.

Now, as I mentioned, I no longer had a shower curtain, so getting myself cleaned up was quite a hassle. And, well, the carpet was old and needed replacing anyway. But the worst part was sneaking it out to the dumpster in the dead of night, hoping no one saw - or otherwise detected my presence, and praying that the rug wasn't still dripping.

Finally, I calmed down and, feeling sorry for myself, started on the Heineken. The hell with what the doctor says, I'm gonna get **** faced.