Three Mound Morning
The plan was to walk to the park at first light on a February morning. Along the way I would distribute my zines to the street libraries and shake my head at the Christmas trees still standing and lit up in various living rooms. At the park, I would admire the stately Doug firs, laugh at the maniacal squirrels, and see dogs playing fetch with their early rising masters. I would not take the route through the neighborhood homeless encampment. There had been too much of that lately.
I cruised the sidewalks and read the dates of their construction and the long gone firms that constructed them.
And then....
There it was, a fresh mound of human feces. Plopped right in the middle of the sidewalk. No wiping material accompanying it. No leaves. No grass. No ripped-off scrap from subscriptions to the Oregonian or NY Times or even the free Willamette Week or Portland Tribune from the racks. No convenience store napkins with corndog grease.
No, it wasn't dog shit. I know dog shit. No, it wasn't coyote scat. I know coyote scat. No, a bear does not shit in the city.
In all my ramblings through the city the past year, I had yet to encounter a single mound of human feces, although I'd read about such encounters all the time. It was in all the papers. Shit makes for great headlines.
I walked around it. I kept heading to the park.
Three blocks later...
Another fresh mound, again in the middle of the sidewalk. A direct hit. Was it meant as strategic? Again, no wiping material. Was it thundered forth from the same criminal sphincter? That seemed unlikely. I'd need Perry Mason to figure that out. The Case of the Deleterious Dump.
I walked around the mound and was pissed off that I had to suffer someone exerting their arrogant and dangerous brown privilege.
At last I reached the oasis of the park. I wandered around for half an hour and exorcised human feces from my mind, always a good thing.
I struck out for home and took the route that overlooked the wetlands...
And there it was! A third fresh mound! In the same condition as the others! Something Popeye always said before he ate his spinach and kicked ass came instantly to mind. You know the line.
Fury wracked my body. I dodged the mound. I knew I would write up the incident later even though I didn't want to write about encountering three fresh mounds of human feces on one morning walk in a tony neighborhood.
But here I am writing it up because it's part of the story and compelling many of us to speak our inner Popeye. Many are no longer whispering, either.