, , , , ,

Last month while Mike and I studied away, a woman knocked on our door.  I ran to answer it while Mike “helped” me wrangle the dogs, and by help I mean he didn’t do shit; I had to pick up Dax (as he tried to rip apart the front door) and put him in the spare bedroom, while Dingo stayed at my feet and made weird squeaking noises unsure of what to do; we hardly get visitors. 

“Hello…. I saw you had a truck!  I was wondering, I have been looking for a while, because I have a house up the street, with a bed… the bed has to go.”  She didn’t seem frantic just scattered and unsure how to ask for help.  “If you want to help, I can pay you $20.  Here’s my card, call me in twenty.”

“No need, we can help you.”

“Perfect, perfect.  Call me in twenty,” she repeated “I will tell you where to go; the mattress/box spring is outside.”  She turned to walk away then added “OH, cats… there were cats.” 

Whatever the hell that means, I thought as I closed the door.



Mike’s truck was a P.O.S. stick shift that was held together with sticks, gum, and hope.  It started up fine as we traveled down the street in search of a house with a mattress lying outside.  Unfortunately for us, we found it.

The woman was nowhere to be found, the mattress had been draped with a tarp, and when we removed it, the smell and sight of urine and fecal matter wafted over us.  We stared at it with every desire to run, this job wasn’t worth $20, it wasn’t worth $100, but it was too late the woman came out of her house in a make shift hazmat suit.  She explained that she had rented her place out to a cat-lady.  She asked if we wanted gloves (made for handling sandwiches) and I literally felt like an idiot for having not brought our own. 

We threw the mattress in the back, it flopped around like no mattress I have ever handled before, probably because I never pissed my bed, let alone shit.  The box spring was not so bad. 

“Alright,” She said handing me the money “I saw a dumpster outside the movie theater on 40th and Stein.  There wasn’t much in it so you should be fine to dump it there.”


Holy shit balls, Mike went from disgusted and perturbed to irate in a matter of seconds. When we got in the truck he was seething, saying things about the woman who just basically left us to illegally dispose of this property that had become ours somehow.  I always wanted piss and shit stains on my bed, I just wasn’t sure how to get them.

The dumpster she had us go to was in the middle of a mall parking lot, a cop car sat idle next to it undoubtedly waiting for speeders to wiz by on the street ahead.   That took Mike’s mood from awful to horrendous. He parked his truck in the lot and we went to Petsmart (which is where we had intended on going that day anyway).


After wasting time inside the establishment, and hearing Mike say over and over it was a stupid idea to help the woman (blaming me without BLAMING me), we once again committed to ridding ourselves of the mattress set.  Coming upon his truck it was quite a sight, the truck itself was run down, covered in hail damage, paint missing, and it tilted noticeably to the right without anything in it, then we added the mattress which could be smelled at least 15 feet away, it was pretty mortifying climbing into the automobile.

Mike turned the key and the truck screamed.  Oh shit, all the hope is gone… dedicating too much of it to the hope of ridding ourselves of the mattress.  Mike huffed and I laughed, it was a nightmare situation and all I could imagine was us pushing this piece of shit all the way home with the smell of cat piss invading our nostrils; hysterical without hyperbole.  Thankfully for us both Mike is MacGyver reincarnate (or whatever one is when the person wasn’t actually real), the P.O.S. started, Mike drove up to a dumpster and yelled “GET OUT OF THE CAR, SONYA LET’S DO THIS FAST!” 

So there we were tossing mattresses that were not our own into the dumpster in the middle of a mall parking lot, that we frequent, praying no one would catch us. 


The smell of pee took a long time to get out of our noses, we ended up trading in the P.O.S. truck a week later (not because of the mattresses, but because it was a hunk of garbage).  Maybe we should have just chucked the truck with the mattresses, it would have saved us some scrapes and bruises while trying to quickly toss them out.  



A week later Dingo had to go to the vet because he ate tile grout that stuck in his system and he couldn’t pass… I think that lady made it happen somehow.