Monday, December 8, 2008

Disclaimer: The following is not for the faint of heart. It contains language and situations that could leave emotional scars that will never heal over time. Read at your own discretion.

 

 

 

A few years ago I went to a work function being held in Atlantic City. I rode down with a co-worker for an enjoyable 3-hour drive. We chat-chitted about current events, coworker’s grooming habits or lack thereof, and other various goings on involving the work place. We arrive at our destination early, with plenty of time before dinner. My stomach decided to announce to the world that lunchtime was a long time ago and it was now time to eat. I agreed with my stomach and decided a li’l snack would surely hit the spot. We spot a hot dog cart outside and decide to feast on a couple of dirty water dogs. Two for a dollar, you can’t pass up a deal like that. Little did I know that this would make for a BIG mistake.

 

After woofing down the two hot dogs, I feel a bit sleepy and think that this is a great opportunity to catch up on some shut-eye before the big corporate dinner.  I check into my room and lie down on the big comfortable bed for what seemed to be all of two seconds before an intense rumbling came from my stomach.

 

Quick like a bunny, I run into the bathroom and drop my pants. I think I must have lost 10 lbs sitting there. It was reminiscent of the scene from Dumb and Dumber, when Lloyd spikes Harry’s drink with a laxative, complete with legs extended and all. 

 

The words came screaming from my mouth, “Ohhhhhhhhhh!!! My stomach!!! I’m poisoned!!! Oh sweet Baby Jesus, this must be what pure evil feels like!!!”

 

Now as you read this, you’re probably:

1) Very disgusted

2) Think that this story is going to end with some amusing little tale of being fresh out of toilet paper.

I only wish a lack of toilet paper occurred. I would have used the hotel’s fluffy white towels in its stead.

 

            After what seemed like hours, I finally finished my business and was extremely exhausted. I sprawled onto the bed and turned on the TeeVee and flipped through the channels. My ADD was kicking in so I couldn’t concentrate on just one thing. I do not know how much time had passed but I realized that the toilet was still flushing.

 

            I go back into the bathroom and I stood there in utter shock. There was literally, literally piss, and shit everywhere. Frantically, I call down to the main lobby to tell them of this occurrence. A nice lady answers the phone.

           

“Front desk, how can I help you?” answered the nice lady.

“This is Gary Guarasci in room 316 and you gotta send someone up here right away, because there is literally, literally piss and shit everywhere!” I said in a frantic state.

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

“This is Gary Guarasci in room 316 and you gotta send someone up here right away, because there is literally, literally piss and shit everywhere!”

“Okay, Mr. Garsuki. [Editor’s note: I don’t know why people have trouble pronouncing my name. You say it like it’s spelled.] We’ll send someone right up.”

“Okay thanks you. Thank you nice lady at the front desk. Thank you.”

           

            It felt like an hour had gone by with no sign of maintenance so I call back down to the lobby. A nice lady answers the phone.

 

“Front desk, how can I help you?” answered the nice lady.

“This is Gary Guarasci and I just called. I’m in room 316 and there is literally, literally piss and shit everywhere.” I said frantically.

“You must have spoken to someone else.”

“What?”

“I said that you must have spoken to someone else. I just got here.”

“Oh.”

“What room number are you in again?”

“This is Gary Guarasci. I’m in room 316 and you gotta send someone up here right away, because there is literally, literally piss and shit everywhere!”

“Okay, I’ll send a plumber up right away.”

“Hurry.”

“Will there be anything else?”

“What?”

“Is there anything else that I can do?”

Long pause.

“No, I think clearing out the river of piss and shit will be all.”

“Have a nice night.”

CLICK.

 

            Ten minutes later, I get a knock on the door and standing before me is a big, burly plumber.

 

“You called for a plumber?” He asks and then takes a look at the sea of excrement and a look of shock falls over his face. “Holy shit. What the fuck happened?”

“Hot dogs.”

 

            He goes to work and gets the toilet to stop running. He looks at me with much disdain and advises that he will be sending housekeeping up to clean up. Shortly thereafter comes another knock at the door. It’s a little fellow whistling happily as I answer the door. He’s got one small white hand towel draped over his shoulder. He takes a look at the crime scene of a bathroom and says, “Whoa, I’m going to have to go get something.”

“You better get a lot of something.” I said to him. I look at my watch and realize that I am late for the corporate sponsored dinner and say to him, “Do you have a key to get in here?”

“Yeah, I got a key.” He flummoxed.

“Oh great, because I got a thing I have to go to and I’m already late as it is. Do you think you could let yourself back in?”

“Yeah.” He replied while muttering something else under his breath.

 

            I hightailed it down to the dinner and ended the evening dining on steak. Now for those of you who stayed with me to the very end, I give you this sound piece of advice: Never, ever, ever trust a dirty water dog, no matter how delicious they look, or enticing the price.

 

           

 

        

 

 

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