It was a one-bedroom basement apartment, and I was to paint it. But calling it a "Basement Apartment" was a rather formal and complementary manner in which to describe those two dark and stuffy subterranean rooms, with one equally claustrophobic bathroom towards the back end.
The place was one of several similar dwellings that I had painted during my long career as a house painter, and it was still occupied by the previous tenant when I had, several weeks previous, looked it over in order to come up with an estimate for doing the work. Upon entering the place, the first word that came to my mind was: "Gross" and, with emphasis, so that "Gross!" with an exclamation point, is actually a far more applicable and accurate manner in which to describe the spontaneous utterance of JD Painter upon beholding the over furnished and cramped quarters, with clothing and random items strewn all about, and the carpet, soiled with numerous cat and dog urine stains. The range on the kitchen (if it could be called a kitchen) stove was encrusted with evidence of past meals, which had evidently also precipitated themselves down the side of the stove as well; and the sink was piled with dirty dishes swimming in gray water.The cork-like white acoustic tiles in the suspended or hanging frame of the low ceiling were shifted and crooked here and there, and some were sagging, or had holes punched in them, and needed replacement. The only illumination in the apartment at that time was from the weak sunlight that found its way through the windows of the entranceway door, and a dingy, inadequate fluorescent light filtered through the yellowed, plastic shrouds of two widely spaced ceiling fixtures.
And then there was the bathroom. When I opened the door to have a look at it, I recoiled in surprise and something akin to real horror. It was about as small a "Full Bath' as one can imagine. The was a shower and a toilet, as well as a sink with a mirrored medicine cabinet above, but all were as closely spaced together as possible. And the low acoustical tiled ceiling, which I mentioned, only served to add to the compression. I was later to learn that sitting on the toilet required sitting somewhat sideways, because the bathroom's designer had placed the wall opposite a bit too close. I will leave it up to the reader's imagination to deduce just how a much taller and longer legged sitter would fare in those circumstances, but if not very well at all is hint enough, then I guess that will suffice.
However, everything I have related so far regarding the apartment was as nothing compared to what I beheld next; for on the floor of the shower was something that, to this day, makes JD Painter's stomach go a bit flip-flop in remembrance (which I try my best to not do). It was a large, rather gauche, plastic tray of a small quantity of kitty litter, overflowing with a much larger quantity of cat poop. In fact, cat poop and grains of kitty litter were all over the floor of the shower, and scattered on the bathroom floor as well, and, in an instant I also came to realize that some of the denser and smaller round stains on the carpet throughout the apartment were not from chewing gum, which I curiously had thought they were when I first came in.
I checked the bottom of my shoes.
To Be Continued
"Excuse me Ladies, the house is on fire!"
* This little anecdotal tale can all fit in with the larger theme of on the job experience after Law School I guess. And if that idea works, I could write 1000 pages, because I have lots of stories like this.
(MW-Don't blame me for this story, blame P.G.W. and old Bertram W. - a Rum Chap! )
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