Living in NYC, you encounter a lot of homeless people. For those of you that read my blog post “My
First NYC Boyfriend,” you now know the story of Eddie and me, but the beauty of
NYC is that there will always be another homeless person on every street corner
…. they’re almost like Starbucks in that sense.
This story, my friends, is of the first homeless woman I met. I don’t know her name so for the purposes of
this tale we shall call her ‘homeless lady.’
I had been living in my new apartment for awhile when
homeless lady showed up. I thought I had
left the worst of the stoop squatters when I broke it off with Eddie, but alas,
it was just a matter of time before Starbucks opened up a new location aka a
homeless person decided to set up shop on my stoop.
Homeless lady was not as hostile as Eddie and in another
life, perhaps she and I could have been friends. Homeless lady enjoyed day drinking, I enjoy
day drinking. Homeless lady wore sweatpants
all day, I practically live in those things on the weekend. Our differences became apparent though the
day I saw a trail of urine originating from under those sweat pants …. gross.
One especially hot summer day, I was leaving my apartment
and homeless lady was of course sitting on my stoop. She had my Wall Street Journal tucked under
her urine sweat pants and was enjoying a morning cup o’ Coors Light (#jealous).
If there’s one thing I've learned about NYC living, it’s that
stoops are ridiculously small. All
Manhattan builders should be required to add a few extra feet to stoops to
account for the homeless factor. Where
there is a stoop, there shall be a homeless …. it’s the law of NYC physics.
When I went to open the door to my building that day, I was
greeted with the sweet scent of Coors Light tinged with a hint of hot, baked
urine …. seriously, why do I live in NYC?
I pretty much ask myself this every day, multiple times a day.
I politely asked homeless lady to move so I could leave my
building. While waiting for a response,
I had to quietly accept the fact that even when she did move, I would
inevitably need to step in her urine in order to start my day. NYC living is seriously gross.
Me: “Excuse
me, can you please move?”
Homeless
Lady: (grunts)
Me: “Homeless
lady, I cannot get around you, you need to move please!”
At that
point homeless lady hazily looked back at me and shot me a dirty dagger look
and then went on drinking out of her brown paper bag. Why did this kind of thing always happen to
me? I don’t get it. Couldn't she have waited to start boozin’ til
9am like a respectable homeless person?
Jeez Louise!
Realizing
that I had no other option I decided once again to utilize my Gail Devers’
hurdle skills to traverse a homeless person …. but this time with a few
alterations. Due to the angle of
homeless lady and the curvature of my stoop, I was going to need to contort my
body Cirque du Soleil style. I mean, I've seen Wintuk multiple times, how hard could it be?
I clung onto my Longchamp and started my maneuvering, deftly placing my
hands and feet on what looked to be the cleanest parts of the stoop. Tippy toe here, body finagling there … eeks
turns out not …. so …. easy!
Thinking I
was nearly in the clear, I went to take my last step and that’s when it
happened. Suddenly it wasn't just my
Wall Street Journal tucked under those sweatpants … my flip flop was also now a resident
of 1 Urine Sweatpants Way …. AHHHHHH!
I suddenly had an internal struggle: issue a MAN DOWN order
and leave the flip flop there forever or get it and never be able to look at it
the same way. Unfortunately for me, that
was my favorite pair of flip flops so I decided to go back in GI Jane style for Mr.
Flip Flop so he wasn't in the blast zone aka the next trail of urine (which would likely be coming soon, I mean homeless lady was drinking Coors Light after all.) While all of this was going on, homeless lady
continued to sit in her drunken haze and seem unfazed by the fact that I was
having a nervous breakdown right in front of her. Ignorance truly is bliss.
With the 5 second rule firmly on my mind I knew I needed to
be quick in my rescue attempt. My naked
foot was also freaking out because it had nowhere to go but onto the NYC streets. I couldn't decide which was the lesser of two
evils.
There was no more time for contemplating, I needed to take
action. My foot darted in and found its way into the forsaken flip flop.
But my excitement was quickly quelled by the realization that my foot
had not only touched the NYC streets but had also touched homeless lady’s urine
pants.
Whenever I have these earth shattering OCD revelations, I
find myself starting to sweat. To be
fair, it was also like 100 degrees that day.
The beads formed like wildfire with every filthy thought I had.
OCD thoughts: “My
foot touched homeless lady’s urine …. (bead of sweat forms) …. My foot touched
the NYC street that probably has 50 other homeless people’s urine …. (drip) ….
My flip flop was literally UNDER homeless lady …. (drip) …. WHY IS IT SO HOT ….
(drip) …. Should I just throw out these flip flops …. (drip) …. Maybe I should,
but then what would I walk to work in?! …. (drip) …. In order to go back inside to get another pair of shoes I would have to traverse homeless lady again …. (drip, drip, drip, drip)”
At this point I was sweaty and light headed and practically
delusional. At one point, I thought
about asking homeless lady for a quick swig of her Coors Light to help calm my
nerves …. delusional and dirty were the least of my problems, I clearly needed
to get to work ASAP before I really lost it.
My walk to work was abysmal and by the time I got there, I
was sweating and blabbering about Cirque du Soleil, Coors Light and homeless
lady (wouldn't you just love to be one
of my coworkers J). When I finally sat down at my desk, I couldn't stop
thinking about how dirty my foot and flip flop were. There is no way I could sit through the next 9
hours in my current condition. I knew I had only one option …. I had to Lysol wipe my foot.
That’s right, I went there. I’m
pretty sure Lysol wipes aren't approved for skin usage, but I didn't care. I grabbed those lemony fresh wipes and went
to town on my tootsies! I wiped and I
wiped and I cleaned that urine off of every inch of my foot and flip flop. 10 wipes later, I felt satisfied that I was
urine free. People who sat around me
were looking at me like I was a spectacle of crazy …. and you know what, I was. In this instance I dismissed the judgment
because only I knew what my foot and flip flop had seen that fateful morning. If only others could have heard the story of
homeless lady, they would understand.
While I am not proud of my Lysol incident, it got me through
the rest of the day. The only awkwardness I felt was
when someone would comment on the lemony scent in the office that day.
Me: “HAHAHAHA, it almost smells like someone Lysol wiped themselves. But I mean, who would do
that?!”
Insert awkward laugh here.
