Over the years I have gone on many house calls. Usually these calls involve going to someones home and either purchasing items or offering to sell the items at auction. Even though this sounds exciting an lucrative it really isn't. Most of the time I would go to the homes to see left over garage sale items, broken dishes or something that should be set out at the curb. I would go to virtually every single one of the invitations because you just never know what you will find. The other part of going is the people that you meet. I have been in homes that are so perfectly kept that you feel that you should be walking in your bare feet (that were hopefully freshly washed) and I have been in homes that...
Well its time for a story.
Once upon a time I was invited to a home in a small village close to the thriving metropolis of Youngstown. Quiet town, quiet neighborhood, neat yard. The inside of the house interesting.
Upon arrival I was greeted by a enthusiastic mother and her daughter. They were excited because they were sure that I was going to be so impressed with their items and that I would certainly empty all of my bank accounts to get the treasures. They would have been right if it hadn't been for the birds and the pot (non smokable).
The birds are simple enough to explain. They were everywhere. The only thing missing was Alfred Hitchcock waddling by. The living room had at least 10 large cages with chirping, talking, squawking, molting, crapping birds in it. The deafening sound made normal communications impossible. Since I don't know sign language I had to revert to using a simple word that every married women knows extremely well, HUH? HUH, I couldn't understand a word they were saying, so I said HUH to just about all of it. I also reverted to another well known response used by married males, the head nod. All married women know that when you get the head nod he really has no clue as to what you just said, nor does he care. But here I was in this bird raging room where they seemed to know what I was saying and all I could do is go HUH and nod my head.
All of this must have translated to them as "He loves our stuff!!", what I was really thinking "There's bird shit on everything!". At this point who knows, I may have agreed to pay thousands for feces covered antiques. What I didn't know is the best part of the call was around the corner in the mother's bedroom.
A few things can happen to you when you get invited into a women's bedroom. One of them if you are a man (and not gay) can potentially be good. A second one is you will go in to see her antiques (which may also be true in the first case) and then there is a third thing that can happen, today was my lucky day, number three.
Number three is actually number two, not the number two see her antiques, number two the human bodily function. That's right I went into the bedroom to see antiques and was confronted by the only smell that could have possibly overridden the smell of the birds, number 2. Not only was the smell there but so was the pot, a personal potty, swishing, full, sitting (upright for the moment) in of all places, the center of the bed. They had sent me in to see the beautiful (their words) bedroom set, bed, dresser, vanity, two night stands and a full potty (?). As I looked, bewildered, at the set there was no way that I could of anticipated what would happen next.
No, thank god I did not knock it over, instead the mother shouted out (over the still cackling birds), "DID YOU GET THE &3IT OUT OF THE BEDROOM?" to her daughter. I remained silent (and non breathing) as the daughter responded "WHAT &3IT?". "THE %3IT IN THE BEDROOM!". It was at this point that the daughter raced into the room and hopped onto the bed to grab the pot with its unholy slurry. I watched as the vibrations caused by her leap caused the contents to, well splash from side to side inside of the container. Although only a small amount actually escaped over the top of the bowl it was still enough for me to momentarily forget about the squawking birds.
As I watched the daughter hurriedly remove the pot, I found myself for one of the few times in my life completely speechless. I came to the conclusion that the best response would be to remain silent. So I said nothing.
As I walked back into the living room where the mother, daughter and 10 bird cages were located I needed to come up with an excuse, any excuse, as to why I couldn't purchase anything from them that day. Always being courteous is important to me so I simply said that I needed to do some research before being able to make any offers. Thank God it worked. I said my goodbyes while easing my way back to the front porch. As I headed towards my car I couldn't help but notice that the pot was now located on the side of the house, tipped over.
Sometimes pot can make you feel good, it is used as a herbal remedy for many ills, in this case it turned out to be a bad trip for me. I never went back and they never called. All in all a good final result. So when faced with a ponderous pot of poop in a potty on pillow top, PUNT!