Disclaimer: This week’s last word has a bit of a nasty subject, so those with a weaker stomach may want to proceed with caution. 

It’s a beautiful summer/fall morning, as I slip on my vegan leather Mary Jane cat shoes. The mischevious kitties smile up at me, and their happy tails wrap around my heel. I only bring these shoes out on special occasions, because while vegan leather is animal friendly, it isn’t exactly durable. I delightedly skip to work, and the office nears. I’m about to trounce into the landing of the Fitzhugh office – when, ugh, is that vomit?

If my kitties had a sense of smell (or were alive at all) I could imagine them peeling away with a hiss, leaving me sock-footed on the sidewalk. 

Unfortunately this has happened twice this year, that the ladies of the Fitzhugh have arrived to a pile of upchuck in front of our door – just spread out enough so there’s almost no way to get around it unless you can leap like a gazelle after carefully pulling the door open. 

And it’s not just the Fitzhugh; walking along Connaught this week, I counted four – seriously, no exaggerating here – piles of retch on the sidewalks. There were a further couple piles of discarded dinner surrounding Patricia as well. 

Unfortunately real life is not like that awesome Rollercoaster Tycoon game. You can’t just pick up a handyman by a little hook and drop him on the pile of throw up, or hire hundreds of people who’s job title includes “upchuck removal specialist”. Someone has to clean it up, and unluckily it usually lands on the business owner or the landlords, such has been our experience.

During my research (if there was an award for grossest investigative journalism, I’m a shoe-in), I noticed the mounds of sidewalk spaghetti tend to congregate around some of Jasper’s fine drinking establishments. If this is in fact a case of over-consumption (and not a mysterious 24-hour flu; I’m willing to give the hurlers the benefit of the doubt), then why is it happening in the first place?

Are these people being served to the point of chucking? Is it not the onus of the business to ensure their patrons are cut off in a timely matter and sent packing, instead of puking? Also, I’m sure surrounding businesses would appreciate it if their liquor-serving neighbours took the time to clean up after patrons inside and out. Nothing makes good neighbours like good fences – unless those fences are made out of barf.

Doug Rodwell, utillities manager for the Municipality of Jasper, says that unfortunately businesses are responsible for the mess in front of their own establishment, and if someone calls in a complaint about a mess on town property, a town employee will be sent out to clean it up. 

“Depending on who’s out enjoying their evening, their friends and neighbours are cleaning it up,” he said. 

The other side of the technicolour yawn issue, is why are so called “responsible adults” drinking until they yak? 

To drink in a bar in Alberta you must be 18 – which by governmental standards is a legal adult – so the assumption is that you are responsible enough to be drinking at that age. I must admit the last time I tossed my cookies in public, I was little over toddler age, and I had the stomach flu. 

So what gives, “grown-ups”? I’m sure you’re all having a merry time up until you blow chunks, but it’s simply a waste of money to quite literally hack it all down the drain (or sidewalk).

Yes, everyone has a bad night, but there seems to be an influx of bad nights happening here in Jasper, and I am quite tired of having to walk through the aftermath. 

I apologize for the graphic content of my Last Word this week, but I need to speak up for my kitty shoes. Enjoy Jasper responsibly, fellow kiddies. 

DISCLAIMER: The Last Word is an opinion column, it is meant to provoke thought and debate. As such, any opinions written here are the writer’s own and do not reflect the viewpoint of any other Fitzhugh staff member or the directors of the Jasper Media Group Inc.