Twenty years of Big City Livin' has almost completely blinded me to the sights and sounds of utterly disgusting public behaviour. Who among us has not witnessed public urination or vomiting, crumpled condoms on the sidewalk, or homeless people making out behind a dumpster in a convenience store parking lot? Surely not I. But today I saw something a little grosser than usual.
On my way to the coffee shop this morning, I spotted a stout, middle-aged man walking towards me with his dog. He caught my eye because he was wearing an oversized grey Russian-style fur hat - a bold fashion choice to pair with his ill-fitting early 90's turquoise and fushia ski jacket.
He stopped on the sidewalk about 50 feet in front of me, and his dog began to assume the Defecation Position. I immediately thought "Oh God no. Please. Not on the sidewalk." But this was only the beginning of what would turn out to be a Triple Nasty:
STAGE ONE: The dog craps all over the sidewalk.
STAGE TWO: While the dog is bearing down, The Man In The Fur Hat summons every ounce of mucous and pleghm from his sinuses, making that horrible gargling/hacking noise that old people make when they're about to barf up a lung. He lifts a single index finger to the left side of his nose, applies firm pressure, and blows with all his might out the right nostril, launching a sizable snotwad at least 7 feet outward into traffic . It splats across the passenger door of a very unlucky blue Subaru. This pleases him immensely. He laughs and says something to the dog. The dog continues to shit, unabated.
STAGE THREE: The Man In The Fur Hat attempts to spit out the remainder of his gooey insides, but misses the sidewalk completely, and his huge goober lands on the dog's back. He reaches down and rubs the snotty spit into his dog's fur. This pleases the dog immensely. Either that, or he was basking in the afterglow of a fabulously feel-good dump. They trot off, leaving a steaming pile of joy for others to relish in the coming weeks.
When The Man In The Fur Hat and I finally pass each other, he gives me a wink and a smile, as if to say: "Yeah, I saw you checkin' me out, baby." I must have been hiding my look of sheer horror with the hand I was using to cover my mouth and suppress my gag reflex.
"Are you gonna clean that up?" I asked, pointing at the offending matter.
"No," he said. "Are you?"
I guess some fuckers just roll like that.