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Here’s an email from Claire from Brooklyn, NY. Don’t read it while eating, because it contains the term ‘rancid spunk’. Thanks Claire!
When my husband and I first moved into our current apartment it was a slight fixer upper and I spent an afternoon deep cleaning the kitchen (scrubbing all surfaces, soaping up the fridge, going through cabinets and drawers, etc).
In the process I discovered a used ‘French letter’ wrapped in some takeout napkins. Not to gross you out too much, but the stench was alarmingly horrific! You seem like nice people, so I hope you never have to find out what rancid human spunk smells like. I think being forced to actually realize that rancid spunk is a thing felt as much like a punch in the face as the actual, repellant particles hitting my nose did.
Anyway, we still wonder whether this lovely cadeau was courtesy of our building superintendent (an illicit encounter during the pre-move-in renovation?), or of the previous tenant having a last hurrah after all the trash cans had been loaded into the moving truck.
Who do you think is the likely culprit, and if this had been you, would you have tried to exploit the situation for a deal on rent or other perk? We didn’t say anything-we just speculated ad nauseam about such questions and over a year later, I still think about it sometimes!
By leaving it for more than a year, you’ve rather spunked the opportunity to use this as leverage for cheaper rent. But if you’re so hell-bent on identifying the culprit, Claire, send off that putrid prophylactic to a lab – there’s plenty DNA to be swabbed.
Readers, have you ever found an unpleasant surprise left behind in your new home? Let us know in the comments.
PS Claire, I do admire that you used such a coy expression as ‘French letter’ in the same breath as ‘rancid spunk’.
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Tags: cleanliness, semen, stench, stinky, yuk
Answer Me This! Podcast 
September 3, 2014 at 3:29 pm |
“Readers, have you ever found an unpleasant surprise left behind in your new home?”
Yes, a housemate.
September 3, 2014 at 12:48 pm |
Not much to do about it a year later, except to win apartment horror story contests at parties.
I learned long ago to avoid any food or drink when listening to AMT podcast. There is no way to properly describe the feeling of having frozen yoghurt, hot chocolate sauce, and chopped up oreo bits make a partially-successful escape through my nose due to a sudden chortle. The good news is that the rest of the yoghurt shop had the opportunity to learn from my fail. I will now extend that rule to the blog.