(Disclaimer: This happened many a year ago…before my brain, according to science, was fully developed.)
One time when we had a dog I used to have to take him out in the morning, and scoop his poop, and then toss the bag in the trash. But one day I was late to work so I kept the bag in my car, with the intention of throwing it in the trash compactor of our condo’s shared area before I left. I got to work, looked down, and had totally blanked. Poo bag was still in my car. It was puggle poop, and it was winter, so it didn’t smell that bad from far away. My puggle, Oscar, was very cute. He looked like a brindle boxer puppy. We gave him away.
Anyway, I take the bag up to the office, again, with the intention of throwing it out in the bathroom. But this would be a waste of such waste. It had traveled too far. It wanted to be a cheap prank. So I left it on my friend’s desk.
My friend arrives and sees a target bag on his desk next to his computer. He thinks someone has dropped off some food for him. He picks up the bag of food and it’s a little warm. Someone dropped off some warm food for him. He better smell it. He smells it. He didn’t even have to think. My name rips out of his throat. Who else could it be?
I think he was still mad about that time I picked his name for Secret Santa and bought him a bunch of whitey tighties from Goodwill with the tags still attached. He was very disappointed, especially that he actually held them up to see what they were, and was very dismayed that he had handled used underwear. This was pre-Breaking Bad, so it was not fun or cool.
Anyway, my friend was rojo de rabia and he cornered me in the bathroom soon after his discovery. By cornered, I mean I was using the urinal and he walks in and shoves me into the urinal. I was not done going, but thankfully my pants kept any of it from hitting the floor. Whatever, pants dry.
Anyhow, I was glad he did it. I always want to be the person who did not get in the last prank volley, that way the other person feels paranoid. Like they’re going to get theirs, but I usually never get them after that. The paranoia is the prank.
I only messed with him one other time, and that was by putting glitter on his chair, which he absolutely lost his mind about. “I have daughters. You don’t understand. You can’t do that to me. Glitter is endless and everywhere. I will end you.” I took his advice and never did that again. He was genuinely distressed.
We made up when he took me to get my first and only tattoo. He has them all over, and when he can’t get them done, he enjoys seeing other people get theirs. My tattoo says “Heidi,” but that’s a different story.