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I was having one of those days...you know, everything that can go wrong does....and then, then Picasso came to my store to use the restroom.
He seemed like an odd man...but he politely asked if he needed a key for the rest room. "No, sir. If the door is locked then the restroom is occupied,"my standard reply for the question. Off he waddled to wait, impatiently, for his turn in the men's room. He paced. He huffed. He puffed. Then he chose to use the ladies room. I thought nothing of it.
A few minutes after the odd man left the ladies room, a customer approached my cashier and said, "there is a REALLY nasty mess in the ladies room....you should let someone know it needs to be cleaned up." I went to investigate the customer's concern...and I'll be damned she was right. It turns out that the odd little man was a potty Picasso. He had painted the toilet tank, the toilet seat, the sink surround, the sink, the mirror, the baby changing station, the hand dryer, the fire alarm, the floor, and toilet paper dispenser in fecal matter.
It took me nearly an hour, a new mop head, a squirt bottle of bathroom cleaner, and 2/3 of a roll of paper towel to remove the "artistic installation" left by the potty Picasso. Then I understood why the odd man kept muttering, "I am sorry" when he made his token purchase of a tube of peanuts and a coke.
He seemed like an odd man...but he politely asked if he needed a key for the rest room. "No, sir. If the door is locked then the restroom is occupied,"my standard reply for the question. Off he waddled to wait, impatiently, for his turn in the men's room. He paced. He huffed. He puffed. Then he chose to use the ladies room. I thought nothing of it.
A few minutes after the odd man left the ladies room, a customer approached my cashier and said, "there is a REALLY nasty mess in the ladies room....you should let someone know it needs to be cleaned up." I went to investigate the customer's concern...and I'll be damned she was right. It turns out that the odd little man was a potty Picasso. He had painted the toilet tank, the toilet seat, the sink surround, the sink, the mirror, the baby changing station, the hand dryer, the fire alarm, the floor, and toilet paper dispenser in fecal matter.
It took me nearly an hour, a new mop head, a squirt bottle of bathroom cleaner, and 2/3 of a roll of paper towel to remove the "artistic installation" left by the potty Picasso. Then I understood why the odd man kept muttering, "I am sorry" when he made his token purchase of a tube of peanuts and a coke.
If there's any sort of fecal desecration of the men's room in the future, I'm flat-out refusing to clean it...sorry, not in my job description. And that goes double if the poop is anywhere OTHER than the bowl or the immediate surrounding area. And this kind of thing should fall under the umbrella of vandalism and/or a biohazard risk. It's one thing to have an accident, it's quite another to be deliberately horrible and start flinging your feces around the room like a monkey or an infant. :angry:
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