So, I'm staring in amazement at the turd on the toilet - a pile of brown, orange, and harvest gold that was resting behind the seat, rather than in the bowl. It was an intentional shit. It's position on the commode meant it's creator had to straddle the porcelain and aim his bowel movement like a bomb being dropped from a plane. The result was a bulls-eye: a perfect steaming splat of brown, with a swirly tip reminiscent of a Dairy Queen sundae. And the turd was garnished (so to speak) by what looked like the entire contents of our wall-mounted toilet seat cover dispenser. Yes, it was an act of vandalism, but it was also a work of art.
This wasn't the first time we've found this type of mess in the bathroom, and after 11 years at Barnes & Noble, I've seen a lot of gross stuff. My very first store was the closest BN to the Sun City area, so much of our clientele was old & incontinent, and "Code Browns" were common, even daily occurrences. It was at that very store where I grew a cast iron stomach, and learned which brands of adult diapers really lived up to their promise. I'd often find myself staring at a brown pool on the floor, thinking, "This is what happens when you buy an off brand." Be careful when you sneeze, especially if you're wearing white shorts.
Once I was walking through the bookstore when I noticed a lump of chocolate on the carpet in the fiction department. I first thought a kid had dropped a candy bar, but as I approached the brown deposit, a second thought crossed my mind: "That's strange. There is no corn in chocolate."
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.
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.
The restroom was empty, quiet, surreal.
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.
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.
I don't know why it is that bathrooms in bookstores get so dirty. Maybe it's the coffee, or our proximity to four different restaurant bars. I'm tempted to say maybe people are just pigs, but I really hope that our customers are better than that. "Who shits ON a toilet, rather than IN it?" I feel is a valid question to ask. I suppose it's the same person(s) who shat in both our urinal and hand sink a few months back, but as bathroom monitors are not on our payroll, we'll never really know the answer.
It disturbs me that as a bookseller, so much of my job involves dealing with poop.
It disturbs me that as a bookseller, so much of my job involves dealing with poop.