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September 5, 2011 / iainnd

Seb Loses His Shit – A True Tale of Horror

I live in Wollongong and work in Sydney. That’s like 82km I have to travel, twice daily. I catch a lot of trains.

Last week, I overheard a girl on the phone sitting behind me, partly because I’d just finished my book but mostly because shut up, you’d have done the same, especially since she was really loud.

What I picked up was that she’d been having a disagreement with Leanne who, as I understand it, was somehow in charge of where she lives. Maybe a landlord or an overbearing relative or even just a housemate who just likes telling people what to do all the time and is probably racist as well. From what I heard, this girl’s room was a mess, and Leanne had voiced her concerns in a very professionally-worded email even though you don’t have to walk past her room to get to the bathroom so it shouldn’t have embarrassed her and oh my god Leanne is just such a bitch all the time, and she’s not going to take it and she’s going to tell Leanne that if she wants to kick her out she can, because she can just stay with her friends until next year and she wrote back and she was all “Thank you for your very professionally-worded email, Leanne and blah blah blah” and she really ripped into her and like, she doesn’t even care and she can kick her out, she doesn’t care.

I tried to think of a situation in which someone would give a fuck about this story but, alas, my efforts were fruitless. I kept all fucks to myself. Though as she raved on and I learned more about what a bitch Leanne is (I concluded that it was somewhere between “such a” and “a total”), something stuck out to me. This girl mentioned to her friend that she related her tale to someone named Seb, who “literally lost his shit.”

And that frightened me.

I ask you to consider, if you will, shitting. Think about the steps involved at the most general level – you sit, you dump, you wipe, you flush. Each step is simple, but very important. None can be skipped. But this Seb missed at least one step, and that’s where I became concerned.

Now, once your waste is flushed, it’s no longer an issue. At that point, even though you don’t know exactly where your shit is, you know something more important – where your shit is not. You may not think about it unless you’re a hygiene nut like me, but you can sit on your couch and (in most cases) know that your pants will remain free of stains when you get up. You can make yourself a toasted sandwich without worrying that you may also be frying a big lumpy turd into the bread. You can brush your teeth.

Our friend Seb does not have these luxuries. He has no idea what is and is not safe to sit on, eat, or brush with. Poor Seb will have to search his whole house for his shit. With everything he owns, when he touches it, even if only in the back of his mind, he will think: “Did I shit on this?”

Maybe, after all his investigating, he can relax after finding his house 100% shit-free. But then consider the alternative – his shit is at someone else’s house. They can do a lot of things with DNA testing these days. I don’t know Seb, but sure I hope I’m not on the same train as him when he gets that call. Seb’s Great Shit Hunt of Aught Eleven requires him to search every single place he has been since he last shat, and I imagine that’s quite a checklist. I do not envy Seb.

Keep in mind that I have not made any of this up. I may not have been there when Seb heard about this fiasco with Leanne, but I did hear what happened from someone who was. Seb shat, and he doesn’t know where. This is what actually happened. Again, he “literally lost his shit;” this was not a metaphor or figure of speech, because this girl was not being sarcastic, and why would you use a word to mean the exact opposite of its definition? You wouldn’t. That’s stupid.

Seb, I may not know who you are, but I have heard your story, and I will pray for you. To the rest of you reading this, be grateful that you literally have your shit together.

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