Calling a Spade a Spade, Carrie Scott [e reader comics .txt] 📗

Leslie tightened her rain-soaked hood, shoved her spade into the muddy dirt, and began moving a tall pile of steaming shit. This was the last time she was going to shovel it.

*******

The moving van simply appeared one morning, the size of a city block, and obstructed the entrance to every street-facing garage in Leslie’s condominium building. By the time Leslie got home from spinning class, there were chairs, tables and sofa cushions littering the sidewalk like half-eaten sandwiches. An enormous armoire was being moved slowly, laboriously down a plank, from the gut of the van to the tired street below. Leslie immediately envisioned a pirate’s walk, the armoire being marched to its watery grave, but alas, it moved swiftly through the front doors of the building where it would likely leave signs of its progression up the three flights of stairs to its new home.

Leslie pulled up behind the monstrosity as she tried to decide where to leave her car. Rolling down her passenger side window and leaning her head as close to the street as was possible with her seatbelt still attached, she called out. “Excuse me?!” Not one of the (seemingly busy) moving men acknowledged her.

“Excuse ME?!” this time more loudly. A young man (hardly older than Leslie’s brother who couldn’t be trusted to move his ass out of bed let alone someone else’s costly furniture) turned. “Yeah?”

“That’s my garage space there,” she motioned toward the front of the building, precisely where the van was firmly planted.

“Yeah?” he said, he plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and looked for a light.

“Yeah,” she confirmed rather prissily now.

Just then a wispy, energetic brunette came bounding toward Leslie’s car.

“Oh my God! Are we blocking you? I’m sooooooooooo sorry. I thought we’d be in and out. I had no idea it would take this long to move a few pieces of furniture!” she eyed the unhelpful young man when she said this. He just scoffed and moved away from them both, pulling long, slow drags on his cigarette.

“Don’t worry about it,” Leslie said. “Did you guys post a moving notice? I must have missed it…”

Her eyes revealed that she had not posted anything and she looked away when she mumbled “my husband must have – I’ll check with him…”

“Not a problem,” Leslie quickly interjected. “I’ll park on the street.”

The woman sighed audibly in relief. “Thanks,” she breathed. “It’s just been such a long day already.”

Leslie shot the brunette one of her most saccharine-fueled smiles and peeled away from the curb in search of a parking spot. She’d lived in this building too long to care about what kind of day someone else was having.

The next morning Leslie took the stairs from her second floor apartment, down to the lobby, in search of her newspaper. She couldn’t help but notice the fresh damage to the stairwell. That’s why the building collects a “move in fee,” but because the lobby and stairwell are never assessed for damage prior to a move, the money is always reluctantly refunded.

She swung open the door leading to the foyer and was greeted by two of the largest dogs she’d ever seen. Perhaps they simply appeared enormous because they were both lunging at the open door, and on two legs, exceeded her height by several inches.

“NO Harry! NO Oscar! DOWN!!” the wispy woman screamed, barely able to contain these wild animals on her own. Leslie’s newest neighbor was already comfortably enjoying the dog-friendly building (a major oversight in the rules manual in Leslie’s opinion).

Leslie turned to the exuberant pups and in a high-pitched voice, gushed “well hi you guyssssssss,” and reached out to scratch an ear. The bigger of the two mutts took her entire arm in its mouth leaving a blanket of frothy goo from her wrist to her elbow. Leslie’s face must have disclosed the fact that she’s no dog lover and that saliva, in thick, leave-behind quantities, makes her want to vomit.

“NO!” the woman shrieked, and pulled the dogs back while they reared like wild horses. “He wasn’t attacking you,” she tried to assure calmly, still hoping to control the offender. “That’s his way of saying ‘hello’!” Now, just inches from the door, Leslie’s newest neighbor turned, and, over the noise of the animals, hollered an irresistible invite. “I’d love to have you over for a glass of wine!” And at that, she was gone.

Leslie waited several minutes, and then went in search of her paper. The dogs had found Leslie’s newspaper first. The soggy rag was sitting adjacent to a fresh pile of dog crap. Leslie balked. The shit lay steaming in the cool morning air and was folded into the well of weeds that had cropped up in the cracked cement outside of her garage. It wasn’t the first time a dog had taken liberties with this small patch of green – but it was the first time Leslie could pin it on the source!

That day Leslie had to sacrifice her paper to the new neighbors. She carefully scooped up the soft, warm mass and it broke apart like overcooked meat. Leslie chucked the entire pile into the garbage bin, still on the curb from Friday morning’s collection. She didn’t really care that fresh fecal matter was now slowly crawling down the inside of the bin. That’s what garbage cans were for after all.

That night, Leslie left a post-it note on the new neighbors’ door. It read: “New neighbor, please be advised that any mess your dog(s) create must be addressed by you, the owner, immediately. Dogs that are obnoxious or an annoyance to the building may be subject to removal.” Leslie had to source the rules manual for that last nugget of truth.

*******

In the months that followed, not one week escaped without at least one incident in front of Leslie’s garage. The post-it warnings heightened in severity and still nothing changed.

And then the day of reckoning arrived. The dogs had been up since the wee hours, barking in response to the thunder and lightning predicted days before. Most responsible pet owners might have considered procuring vet-prescribed meds to soothe the animals during these freak storms. But, Leslie’s new neighbors threw caution to the wind and let their dogs endure Mother Nature’s worst.

The electricity blinked on and off intermittently and the weather wasn’t anything that Leslie was going to venture out in. Not even for her favorite step class. The streets were empty save for the brave car or two willing to risk the onslaught of rain. San Franciscans take rain very seriously. Work is canceled because of it. Schools are closed. The city surrenders itself to a state of emergency. And that is why, when Leslie realized she had to run down to her car to retrieve her laptop from her trunk, she didn’t relish the few moments she’d be standing under the angry skies.

Slipping her “rain shoes” and hoodie on over her pajamas, Leslie raced down the two flights of stairs, eager to get to her car and back to the safety of her apartment. Braving the wet, Leslie dashed to her garage, opened it and in the dim light could see a fresh pile of crap glistening by her left foot. Leslie could feel the bile rising in her throat. The shit was collecting rain every moment that Leslie stood there gawking, and was quickly turning into more of a pudding-like sludge which crept further along the sidewalk.

Leslie angrily grabbed the shovel just inside her garage door and with the rain now streaming in furious waves, tightened her rain-soaked hood, shoved her spade into the muddy dirt, and picked up the offensive pile, slowly, carefully moving it ten feet down the sidewalk, just in front of the new neighbors’ car.

Publication Date: 04-04-2010

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