Her: "Um, you know that place you clean?"
Me: "Uh-huh, what about it?"
Her: "I hate to be the bearer of bad news but you might want to come down here."
Me: "Why? Please don't tell me that someone has broken in."
Her: "Noooooo, not that, it's just, um..."
Her: "Someone's puked all down the front door and it smells really bad."
Me: "Awesome, thanks, talk to you later."
So I got dressed, pulled on some shoes and drove down to clean it up. Who doesn't love having to leave their house on a Sunday night to go and clean up half masticated french fries in congealed orangish pink goo that some delightful stranger left for them? Luckily for me it wasn't quite as bad as she'd made it out to be, but let's face it, it's vomit and it was disgusting.
The point of this little story is that I want to publicly thank this random citizen for making my Sunday evening so wonderful. You seriously couldn't have dodged a couple feet in the other direction to vomit into the tree grate on the other side of the sidewalk, where it would have been watered into the ground below? Or even to the gutter on the street where the street cleaning machine would take care of it? Nope, you had to vomit right by this door and I had to clean it up.
It's not bad enough that I already work 6 days a week at several different jobs to make ends meet, but you have to make me work on the seventh as well, and doing something foul to boot. There was no apology and no attempt to clean it up, you're a real gem. Do remind me to add you to my Christmas card list.