There were the kinds of messes that took a dishrag to clean up, and some that required a mop and a bucket. Some messes spilled over and compromised other areas, which turned a minor inconvenience into prickling aggravation. And then there were grade-A, next-level catastrophes that left you sifting through the wreckage, contemplating every misstep, every wrong turn, that led you there. We weren’t any of those things. We were just plain fucked.
