When it came to house parties, my roommates and I pulled out all the stops. We wanted our soirees to stand out and be memorable so we always chose a theme. We threw a bat mitzvah party (homemade t-shirts and some chair lifts and all) for my non Jewish roommate’s 19th birthday. We had a costume parties. We had a Jell-o wrestling tournament. And when winter set in, we asked everyone to pull out their finest dresses and ties and come over for a cocktail party.
It was a classy affair with brie, wine and champagne. Everyone looked fabulous as we mingled to the sounds of Frank Sinatra playing from my laptop.
As with most college parties, our friends brought their friends – people we didn’t know – but we welcomed them with open arms and strong vodka cocktails.
The party was going great – the alcohol was flowing, the people were having fun – so I ran upstairs to touch up my makeup in the bathroom. We typically left our downstairs bathrooms for guests so I was surprised to find the door locked. I knocked a few times; no answer. I thought maybe one of my roommates was in there – perhaps keeping things classy and going for a more private makeout – and went back to the party.
A random guy came down the stairs a little while later and, assuming he must have been in there with one of my girls, I went back up to see what was going on. The bathroom door was open and I walked in.
And I almost hurled.
It seems that booty was not the reason for the bathroom occupancy. Not even close. Instead, this random guy that no one knew was in our bathroom leaving his mark. Literally. In attempts to prank us this boy decided to give us an Upper Decker. Yes, he pulled the lid off of the tank of our toilet and pooped right in there.
And if that’s not gross enough, his aim was a bit off, leaving some of his remains dripping down our wall.
I ran out of the bathroom and gathered my roommates.
“I need you for a minute,” I whispered. “We have a situation.”
“What’s the problem? Did someone steal your iPod again?”
“No. Someone took a dump on our wall.”
Confused, my roommates followed me upstairs. We filed into the bathroom and one by one the girls gagged. We weren’t sure if we should laugh or throw up, but we did know we had to do something. So we huddled into the bathroom, clad in black dresses and pearls, formulating a plan for the Upper Decker. We decided removal was in order – and fast – as the situation might get more difficult (read: looser) the longer we waited.
My roommate ran down to the kitchen, grabbed a ladle and a garbage bag and we went to work. I held the bag (with my face turned away) as she scooped the poop into the bag. She tossed the ladle in (duh, we wouldn’t be serving soup with that any time soon) and I tied up the bag. I handed it off to another roommate and – in 3 inch pumps – she ran it to the dumpster across the street.
When she returned, we washed our hands of that mess (literally…three times) and went in search of the bowel-bandit. He was nowhere to be found. Unwilling to let him ruin our party completely (he can have our ladle but he can’t have our fun!), we mixed a few very strong cocktails and returned to the party.
We never did figure out who that kid was or who brought him, but that’s OK. The Upper Decker story made our party infamous…and what more can a group of college girls ask for?