It was a weekday in early June 2010. I was home from college on summer vacation, and things were off to a great start. I was enjoying a relaxing, flip-flop-free shower at my parents’ house. Both my mom and my dad were at work, while my sisters were in school – one in high school, one in middle school. I was home alone, which is why it was particularly alarming when the light in the bathroom flicked on and off.
“Hello??” I yelled, thinking it was one of my sisters. But no one answered.
The bathroom in our old house had two entryways – one from the hallway and the other from my parents’ room, which had a light switch that controlled the bathroom light from the outside. I’m not sure what sort of “stupid girl in a horror film” bravery came over me, but I slammed the shower off, ripped back the curtain and ran to the top of the hallway stairs.
“Hello? Ivy?” I called for my little sister who would’ve been home from school first. “Dad??”
Then, the strangest thing happened … I got a strong, unmistakable whiff of something. I was certain it was poop. I wrapped a towel around myself, my hair dripping all over the hardwood floors as I walked down the stairs. The hallway bathroom door was flung wide open, and one of the windows in our kitchen that lead to our back deck was open with the screen pushed out. At the time, we had two cats, and no one in my family would have been so careless. (Except, now that I think about it, my dad might have. He hated those cats.)
I made my way to the bathroom, where I found the stinky culprit: a massive, 4” x 6” (rough estimate) turd sitting in the toilet. (I would like to note that “turd” is actually listed as a legitimate word in the Merriam-Webster dictionary. Google it.)
Mysteriously enough, there was absolutely no toilet water in the bowl. Just one gigantic, monster of a turd. I called the only person who could have been responsible for this in my house.
“Dad? Did you come home from work and take a poop?” Something he actually has been known to do.
“Do you swear?”
“Liv, why would I lie about that? What are you talking about?”
“Well, someone took a giant poop in the toilet and left it here … and the kitchen window is wide open, too – the screen and everything. AND someone flicked the light on me when I was showering! They were right near me while I was NAKED IN THE SHOWER.”
It wasn’t until this VERY moment that I started to put the pieces together of what may have happened. My dad stayed on the phone with me while he used his work phone to call Ivy.
“Ivy? Where are ya? You’re on the bus home? Ok. Bye. Olivia? Get out of the house. Now.”
This. This exact moment – the second my dad freaked out – was when I realized that this shit (pun intended) was serious. I was standing in a puddle that my wet hair made on the hallway floor, still in my towel, when I made a run for the door.
I started doing laps around the outside of the house trying to see if I could catch the poop-etrator (come on, that one was good). When I came back around to the front yard, the old lady across the street was waddling over.
“Olivia, honey, I heard on our police scanner that someone broke into your house!”
She was facing the house when she gave me a hug and said, “ Is that them, honey, up in the upstairs?? I can see him in the window.”
I started running like a lunatic at the house, screaming for this stranger to show himself.
A few seconds later, my dad was flying down the cul-de-sac doing Mach 90 in his Jeep Cherokee. Behind him was a fleet of police cars ranging from sedans to SUVs, sirens wailing.
Having heard the commotion, our new neighbor whom we’d yet to officially meet came over and handed me a plush white robe to put on over my towel. At this point I was screaming and crying as the officers rushed up the front lawn toward my house with bulletproof shields. Bullet. Proof. Shields.
My little sister Ivy and her friend Kaitlyn came innocently walking into the front yard from the backyard, and immediately asked me what happened. The plush-robe neighbor lady shuffled us into her house away from all of the chaos.
“So I went downstairs, looked in the toilet, and saw a giant turd with no water,” I explained through sobs to the police offer.
Looking back on this, I often wonder how exactly that officer kept a straight face while he wrote down “victim found giant turd” on his note pad.
Over the course of the next 20 minutes, my mom showed up – having left a client halfway through a haircut. (Needless to say, the client didn’t make a second appointment.) My middle sister, Leah, came home at some point, and was right there to comfort me. All the while, the cops were searching the interior and perimeter of my house.
The entire street was outside at this point, worried that there was some sick freak running around, dropping deuces in people’s bathrooms and escaping out the window. I had just finished telling my story for the 15th time when my little sister came over to me.
“Livia … Kaitlyn has something she wants to tell you.”
“I took the poop in the toilet.”
I looked down at this 13-year-old girl and thought, no. That’s impossible. That poop was bigger than this little girl’s arm. There’s no way that that came out of her. Why was she admitting to this heinous crime? Who was she covering for?
Turns out, she wasn’t lying. For the next few hours, the girl’s owned up to the poop, but ONLY the poop. They denied all association with the open window and the light switch flipping during my shower. They, allegedly, were so shocked at what came out of Kaitlyn – and to be honest, this part I understood – that they ran all the way to Kaitlyn’s house a few blocks down the road to get her digital camera to document the epic shit.
My sister kept the secret that she was the one who flickered the lights and that she lied to my dad about being on the bus when she and Kaitlyn were actually hiding in her bedroom closet before popping up and getting spotted by my old-lady neighbor (the figure she saw in upstairs).
That little shit – pun intended – only just owned up to everything last year, 5 years later.
I may have forgiven Ivy and Kaitlyn – wait, no I never forgave Kaitlyn – for scaring me like that. But people don’t forget. I also never forgave myself for giving that amazing robe back to my neighbor. I learned my lesson that day, while Ivy learned hers: don’t pick shitty friends. OK I’M DONE.