We start with this charming rant by an anonymous group member: “POO on the jerk who walked out of his pious gray Prius on the ferry today to dump his DOG POO in the ferry trash. You couldn’t keep your dog’s crap in your car long enough to get to your own disgusting property, slob?”
There are 117 comments. There are one hundred and seventeen unanimous opinions about how ear-bleedingly stupid this rant is.
Never before in the history of Vashon have we all agreed on one thing until today, when we agree that this person needs to chill.
Like with all posts, we take a moment to reminisce on how things were in the good old days. It used to be that people would clean out their cars into the ferry trash bins. I never thought to do that, but I really should. Usually, when I step out of my car, a wave of chip bags and old coffee cups spills out after me, like stardust swirling at the feet of a fairy.
Then we get into an argument about whether it’s ok to leave poop in the trash. Like, maybe there are types of trash, and some are just so vile that they should be kept in your airtight car for hours rather than thrown in a public trash can.
An astute group member wants to know, if you can’t drop poop on the ferry, then “why are there public toilets on the ferry?” The anonymous group member replies, “Those are for toilet trained adults who flush. “ It turns out the group member is also disturbed by diapers and sanitary products in the ferry trash. That’s right, pack out your tampons in your pocket. It’s the hygienic thing to do.
Others point out that the garbage cans have liners, and the ferry workers don’t have to take each piece of garbage out of the can one by one and lovingly caress it against their faces before they drop it in the dumpster. I mean, imagine how late the boats would be if they did that? The ferry workers just toss the garbage bags over their backs like Santa.
The anonymous group member digs in their heels and explains, “Ever hear of the phrase “pack it out”? Why should anyone’s garbage be dumped on the ferry?”
We all get confused. “Pack it out” is in reference to camping, where there are no trash cans, and your job is to keep your granola bar wrappers until you see a trash can. It doesn’t mean hoarding all garbage you have ever created until your car becomes like one of those cars full of bottles and papers you’ll occasionally see parked in town and think to yourself, ‘There but for the grace of god go I.”
Someone drops this philosophical gem, “Don’t understand how people occupy their minds with shit. Dog shit, or others dealing with dog shit, does not move ’em up on Jedi master scale, for me; it’s still fecal rumination. I’m old. I’m cranky. People … I’m not a big fan. Yikes!”
It reminds me of the Confucius quote, “You are what you think about.” So if you spend your time festering about other people’s dog’s poop, then what does that make you?
We all recognize the absurdity of this situation, as evidenced by this comment: “this rant is heading towards most laughable posts- remember the stackable washers?!” And the response: “how dare you besmirch the legacy of stackable, comparing it to this nothingburger. People died for that stackable’s right to kill! 
In case you thought we were done with the scatological posts, we’re just getting started. We have this rant, “Has anyone else used the toilets on the Fauntleroy side inside the building? They are so Flippin short!”
We commiserate. The toilets are indeed too short. One islander says, “I have a vivid memory of using those toilets when VERY pregnant. I thought I would never get up again.”
I have a vivid memory of being pregnant and dropping a quarter on the ground. I tried to bend over to retrieve it, but my tummy and back wouldn’t allow it. So I stood there for a while and stared at it until a wave of calm washed over me, and I realized that I had to let it go. The quarter was no longer mine. It belonged to the universe now. So I understand having a very specific and mundane pregnancy memory.
After all this poo talk, it’s time to cleanse our minds by thinking about things we’d like to weave into our lives instead of living in a state of irritated oppositional defiance.
Here’s an amazing photo of a bonsai with the caption, “Did I prune it too much???”
And here are some sheep.
Author: Anna Shomsky
I'm a former teacher and a data engineer living on Vashon Island. My writing has appeared in Five on the Fifth, Women on Writing and on the Post-Culture Podcast. I wrote and produced the radio show Whispers of Vashon for 101.9 KVSH. I’ve had short stories published in the anthologies Island Stories and Chicken Scratchings, as well as through the Open Space Literary Project.
