On realizing it was feces, I took a closer look at my surroundings. I saw more poop at the end of the aisle, and even more in the next aisle over. The increasingly-frequent shit-piles told the story of some catastrophic adult-diaper failure, and their path left clues to a frantic trip to the restroom - a trip with serious urgency.
"It must have gone down his pant leg," I thought, wondering how such a trail could have been made in a retail store, without anyone noticing. "He was trying to hold it in, but the prairie dog wouldn't stay in the hole." The poop trail stopped short of the mens room door, and after preparing myself for what I would find, I slowly pushed the door open.
There was nothing but the buzz of the humming fluorescent lighting, and a heaviness in the air that made the room seem hazy. The air tasted "creamy," sweet on the surface, but foul underneath. I soon realized that I was inhaling a mixture of shit and roses - floral air freshener aerosol and the aftermath of something unholy that had occurred within in the handicapped stall. I saw shit on the ceiling and a abandoned pair of underwear on the floor next to the toilet. And with a hand over my mouth, I couldn't leave the restroom fast enough.
It disturbs me that as a bookseller, so much of my job involves dealing with poop.