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To the person who deuced on the floor in the swamp yesterday:
I understand that sometimes the urge to release one's bodily wastes can come on swiftly. That is why we have bathrooms inside the store for your convenience.
There I was, doing some things at work my supervisor asked me to. You walked in, seemingly looking like a high-functioning member of society. You checked out a few things in the store, and then suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, COMPLETELY SHIT YOUR PANTS.
I have to give you props. This was impressive, both in quantity and odor. How do I know this? Because you decided not to tell anybody. You decided to just go marching around the store, with your pants full of poopie, dropping little turdlets hither, thither and yon. Nobody knew what evil your bowels had wreaked until somebody in flip flops stepped in it, and started cursing up a storm. So then the manager on duty, from the sanctity of her poop-free office, paged me to clean up after you.
Seriously, what the hell did you do? Run a maze after you crapped yourself? I had to go all over the store cleaning up your foul Hansel and Gretel-esque trail. I started by the front cartwell. Then I had to go up the main aisle past baby furniture mopping. Then into electronics, housewares, and toys, and thankfully that's where I lost the trail.
And I had to perform my cleanup while enduring the stale wit of my co-workers. "I see you have the fun job today!" Yeah, the greatest. "You missed a spot over there!" Probably. "I guess you're really having a crappy day today!" Seriously, shut up before I dump this mop bucket of poopy water over your head.
If I had my way, you would be forced to wear a big scarlet S on your clothing at all times, to alert the public to the fact that you shit, in public, without regard for appropriate time or place. I hope you went home and just slammed yourself against a wall or something, for being unable or unwilling to control yourself.
And I had gone such a nice long time without having to clean up after somebody's bodily mess. Thank you for reminding me that all good things must come to an end, you fucking pig.
I understand that sometimes the urge to release one's bodily wastes can come on swiftly. That is why we have bathrooms inside the store for your convenience.
There I was, doing some things at work my supervisor asked me to. You walked in, seemingly looking like a high-functioning member of society. You checked out a few things in the store, and then suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, COMPLETELY SHIT YOUR PANTS.
I have to give you props. This was impressive, both in quantity and odor. How do I know this? Because you decided not to tell anybody. You decided to just go marching around the store, with your pants full of poopie, dropping little turdlets hither, thither and yon. Nobody knew what evil your bowels had wreaked until somebody in flip flops stepped in it, and started cursing up a storm. So then the manager on duty, from the sanctity of her poop-free office, paged me to clean up after you.
Seriously, what the hell did you do? Run a maze after you crapped yourself? I had to go all over the store cleaning up your foul Hansel and Gretel-esque trail. I started by the front cartwell. Then I had to go up the main aisle past baby furniture mopping. Then into electronics, housewares, and toys, and thankfully that's where I lost the trail.
And I had to perform my cleanup while enduring the stale wit of my co-workers. "I see you have the fun job today!" Yeah, the greatest. "You missed a spot over there!" Probably. "I guess you're really having a crappy day today!" Seriously, shut up before I dump this mop bucket of poopy water over your head.
If I had my way, you would be forced to wear a big scarlet S on your clothing at all times, to alert the public to the fact that you shit, in public, without regard for appropriate time or place. I hope you went home and just slammed yourself against a wall or something, for being unable or unwilling to control yourself.
And I had gone such a nice long time without having to clean up after somebody's bodily mess. Thank you for reminding me that all good things must come to an end, you fucking pig.
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