Theater
of the absurd
Nick
Genisauski
It was a crisp October day and I had just
completed the trek from my car to upper
campus when I decided to make a pit stop
in the restroom. As I entered the tiled
sanctuary I took a glance in the mirror
and admired what God had bestowed upon me
-- a permanent five o'clock shadow and the
ability to perspire at will. Approaching
the furthest urinal I set my cup of coffee
nearest the flush handle and proceeded to
relieve myself exuding a sigh of relief.
In the midst of bliss I turned my attention
downward expecting to see the same plastic
deodorizer holder with the usual white letters
printed on it that read "Say No To
Drugs." The meaning behind this unusually
placed PSA had me baffled for years, but
before I could decipher a reason or motive
for such an odd advertisement I was mortified
at what was staring at me from the recesses
of the urinal. Casually lounging on the
lip of the porcelain, as if taking a break
from the daily grind, wading in a pool of
piss and soap was the largest turd I had
seen in a decade. I quickly raised the zipper
on my trousers and reeled back a few steps
in disgust, looking for someone to stabilize
my emotional state.
Who
would commit such a heinous crime as to
defecate in a urinal? I saw a janitor, but
was discouraged by his motley attire. My
call came in to the campus police around
11:45 AM. I revealed my moment of terror
to the officer on the phone and described
the scene of the crime in great detail,
inviting him to tape off the area or at
least dispose of the rigor mortised feces.
There was a pause, he exclaimed, "Are
you kidding me?" then suggested that
I "get a life" before hanging
up.
Then
I remembered the crime log in the On-line
Forty-Niner, recalling Capt. Stan Skipworth
saying that getting the information to the
public as soon as possible is key to a thorough
and speedy investigation. I left numerous
messages on the crime hotline, but to no
avail since my calls were never returned
and my incident of horror was unpublished
in the following weeks paper. Surely the
crime I had reported was worthy of making
it to the crime log.
Eventually,
I threw in the towel of disheartenment and
realized the events of that fateful October
day were mere elementary to the collegiate
misdeeds recorded in the On-line Forty-Niner
crime log. Let's be honest -- a stale brick
of excrement
isn't even in the same ballpark as some
of the lawless incidents above Capt. Skipworth's
photo. However, an interesting thought occurred
to me -- could it be that some of the crimes
reported could lead us to the shameless
human responsible for spreading early Christmas
cheer by laying a fresh Yule log in the
pisser? I took it upon myself to search
for evidence and bring this fecal felon
to justice!
My
intuition led me to Oct. 2, when campus
police received a call from a woman saying
she had heard "strange noises coming
from a [women's] bathroom stall." The
woman later entered the restroom to find
the toilet had been "tampered with."
For a moment I thought our defecator had
struck again, but fortunately the only bodily
excretion was a pile of vomit on the floor.
The
Oct. 2 charade proved fruitless to my case,
but on Oct. 6, I felt I was hot on his trail.
It was reported that a male was seen on
the corner of Atherton and Bellflower, drunk
as skunk, ranting and raving at oncoming
traffic. Could this be our suspect? Alcohol
is a chief contributor to irrational behavior
and proven to catalyze bowel movement. Unfortunately,
the authorities arrived a flush late and
a one ply short -- I was back to square
one.
With
a campus crapper on the loose, hysteria
is at epic proportions. I don't fear the
human who left their calling card in the
restroom, I pray for him. I also ask the
Lord to bless the students that have been
gripped by anxiety and tension, compliments
of this perpetrating "pooper."
However, if we report and record all things
that go bump in the night, the crime log
itself loses integrity and the cry of "wolf"
falls on deaf ears. My fictional encounter
failed to make it to press, but many like
it do. Logging a serious crime is beneficial
to the population and recording absurdity
is simply stool on the face of law enforcement.
And remember, Officer Mahoney says: "There's
always room for pudding, cadets!"
Nick
Genisauski is an English major at Cal State
Long Beach.
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