Well, color me thoroughly disgusted. This weekend, I woke up Sunday morning to discover that someone had vommed all over my bathroom floor. I stood in the doorway of the bathroom, shell-shocked as my senses took in what had happened. What I was seeing couldn’t be true—it was everywhere, covering the intersection between the row of sinks and the aisle with the showers and stalls, and it was splattered on the walls. The smell hit my nose and I fled, dazed and disturbed, like I’d just discovered a dead body and not a pile of puke.
When I returned to my room, Roommate was finally awake and fiddling around on her computer. She looked so innocent and peaceful lying on her bed, blissfully facebook stalking without knowing that a tragedy had struck. It broke my heart to be the one to tell her what I’d found, but I knew she should hear it from someone she loved and trusted.
Roommate and I had both stayed in the night before and had gone to bed at approximately 12:30 a.m. The vom had not been there at this time. That left a lot of time open that someone could have committed the crime. We knew we had to narrow it down and interview the rest of our floor mates. We had our suspicions about who it was, but we had no proof yet.
“I have to shower,” Roommate told me resolutely. We have a running joke where we call each other trolls and argue about who the smelliest roommate is. The answer to that question will quickly become clear.
“Second floor bathroom?” I asked.
“No,” She said, “I don’t like those showers.”
I agreed. We’ve both grown accustomed to the showers on our floor, even though the second floor showers are objectively nicer. It’s like being an old person who still has dial up and AOL e-mail—the one that announces, “You’ve got mail” and will forever remind me of the movie with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan trying to be adorable and lovable. I think somewhere deep down the old person realizes the combination of dial up and AOL e-mail is awful and retarded, but they’re so stuck in their ways, unable to see the beauty of wireless and gmail.
A few minutes later, Roommate returned to the room, informing me that it had been too much to handle. The back bathroom stall and back shower are directly across from one another, and apparently there was more vom all over the bathroom floor, wall, and in the unflushed toilet.
The one thing I cannot blame this fucking asshole for is the unflushed toilet, and that is because it is almost impossible to flush that toilet when you are sober. It takes finesse to maneuver the trip lever (note: I had to look up “toilet diagram” in order to find the correct terminology for this. Otherwise I would have just called it the flusher or something.) If you pull down on the trip lever wrong, it pops off, but if you push it in while pulling down, it works. I’ve never felt more satisfied flushing a toilet than I do when I use this one. I understand completely that a drunk mess of a human being would be no match for this trip lever.
However, what I can’t forgive this person for is the floor thing. The sinks were right behind the perpetrator. They very very easily could have turned to their left and hurled in one of the FOUR sinks. FOUR!!!
When Roommate reported back about the back stall being decimated, my worst fears were confirmed. The entire bathroom was a bloody battlefield. When I’d first walked in, I hadn’t been brave enough to venture farther into the bathroom, a dark sense of foreboding had settled around the room. I knew the worst was yet to be found. It was just a shame someone as joyous and kind-hearted as Roommate had to see it first-hand.
The Smelliest Roommate Possibly Determined
Set in my ways, I adamantly refused to shower on the second floor. Instead, I decided that the best option would be to give myself a quasi sponge bath. This meant I took a washcloth and soap and bathed myself in one of the bathroom stalls. On the second floor.
Why I could do this but refused to bring my towel and other supplies down is a mystery in and of itself, even to me. I don’t really care to examine this in much more depth, simply because it’s no longer relevant. The cleaning people (god bless their souls) came today, so I was able to take a shower in my regularly scheduled shower.
Roommate of course found this hilarious. For her fine display of courage this weekend, and for her bravery in showering downstairs, I commend her, and award her the Not Smelliest Roommate award.
More Details Revealed
Sunday afternoon, Roommate and I were in the library together, and we spotted one of our floor mates, Miles* walking by. I beckoned him over. He immediately knew what we wanted to discuss. Apparently, he and his roommate had gone home for the weekend together. They returned at approximately 3:30 a.m., at which point the vom was already there.
We collectively decided that it had to be Sponges are Scary or his roommate Nathaniel’s Feelings or one of their friends. I was already texting Sponges, so an interrogation disguised as friendly and curious inquisition appeared to be in order.
Sponge’s texts were suspicious because they displayed no real sense of outrage. We were chatting about dinner when I threw at the bottom of one text, “Also do you know who puked all over our bathroom?”
“I have no idea.” Sponges replied suspiciously.
“It was you!” I said subtly, using skills only The Closer has ever been talented enough to utilize.
“No it was not,” He again replied suspiciously, furthering my suspicions.
“Was anyone over with you?”
“I didn’t get back until 4:30, and it was there when I got back.”
“This is awful.” I answered, backing off in hopes of eliciting the sort of emotional response anyone with a soul would have had.
He merely wrote back, “That’s college for ya.”
“No! There were sinks right behind them!”
“Yup it sucks.”
This was a dead end; Sponges had proven to be of no use to my mission. I told Miles about the texts, and he claimed that Sponges had been on the couch watching our television when he’d returned at 3:30, and that he was very inebriated. I was willing to write off time discrepancy, because drunk time and real time are very confusing. But it did make me doubt Sponges just a little more.
Could he have been inebriated enough to vom all over the very bathroom he would have to use the next day? It suddenly seemed unlikely.
We now only knew that the incident had occurred between 12:30 and 3:30 while Roommate and I had slumbered right next door.
The Other Two Suspects
But what of Nathaniel’s Feelings, you ask? Well, I talked to him later that night. He claimed to have not been drunk Saturday night. Could he have been feeding me a clever lie? Covering for someone dear? His eyes were gleaming maliciously…or were they? I didn’t know who to trust anymore.
Or maybe it was our mysterious floor mate, who had lost his roommate at the end of last semester. He claimed his ex-roommate had not made grade, but perhaps Floor Mate Seven had simply vommed his ex-roommate into oblivion and was now striking again. Maybe his end game was to get rid of all of us!Floor Mate Seven keeps mostly to himself, appearing amicable when spoken to, but not much is known about him. Isn’t it a well known fact that it’s always the quiet ones who ruin bathrooms and shatters the peace?
We’ve finally come to the conclusion that it was a vom and run from a guest. Someone one of our own let into their heart and home, only to be punished for it. One of our own would never vom and run in the very bathroom they must use. It must have been someone who could just leave, consequences be damned.
We may never know who committed this hateful act, but the incident has left its mark, and the smell still lingers on—haunting our once peaceful third floor bathroom.