So you need to go to the bathroom in a busy store. *
The first stall isn’t too bad – it’s got a bit of toilet paper on it, but you go on to the next, just in case. The next looks like someone took a bath in lemon Gatorade, and nearly just as appetizing looking. The third, well, had a cultist to accompany the blood spatters on the walls, toiletries floating like a testament to the event. She tried lighting a candle for it, but the flooded stall next to her kept drowning the fire. The family stall was nearly impeccable, until you looked at the floor. It was like a mildly nasty cupcake, with toilet paper confetti and peppered with more…Gatorade. Footprints were stuck on the floor from the victims who had discovered their fate. Finally, the largest and most controversial stall: the handicap stall. It was clean; so clean, in fact, that all of the women had lined up to use it, rivaling the lines of a Rock concert. Sighing, you go to the first stall you saw, and wipe off the seat. You wash off your shame in a hot shower after your shopping journey. You swear to never shop again on weekends, but will continue to do so anyway.
Normally, the bathrooms are never this nasty. Sure, we get the occasional people who think the burrito comes out cleaner with a hat dance on the toilet seat, but they’re everywhere. The sheer concentration of people on weekends almost makes me glad that I always work them. Doesn’t mean I still don’t try.
* This is an exaggeration. Cultists usually don't inhabit bathrooms. And if they did, I'm sure they'd prefer the clean ones just like we do.
But seriously. Every single time this store is slightly busy, it's like every female in the universe decides to not clean up after themselves. Drives me nuts, especially when I'm at work.
Because then people keep telling me it's a mess, and I can't do anything about it because: 1) I'm on break; 2) That's not even remotely my job. Usually the store is so busy during the 'messes' that we can't even keep up! So telling me isn't going to do anything. Usually if I tell someone that CAN do something, they take their time until I come up and tell them a third/fourth/hundredth customer came up and said they were nasty.
The first stall isn’t too bad – it’s got a bit of toilet paper on it, but you go on to the next, just in case. The next looks like someone took a bath in lemon Gatorade, and nearly just as appetizing looking. The third, well, had a cultist to accompany the blood spatters on the walls, toiletries floating like a testament to the event. She tried lighting a candle for it, but the flooded stall next to her kept drowning the fire. The family stall was nearly impeccable, until you looked at the floor. It was like a mildly nasty cupcake, with toilet paper confetti and peppered with more…Gatorade. Footprints were stuck on the floor from the victims who had discovered their fate. Finally, the largest and most controversial stall: the handicap stall. It was clean; so clean, in fact, that all of the women had lined up to use it, rivaling the lines of a Rock concert. Sighing, you go to the first stall you saw, and wipe off the seat. You wash off your shame in a hot shower after your shopping journey. You swear to never shop again on weekends, but will continue to do so anyway.
Normally, the bathrooms are never this nasty. Sure, we get the occasional people who think the burrito comes out cleaner with a hat dance on the toilet seat, but they’re everywhere. The sheer concentration of people on weekends almost makes me glad that I always work them. Doesn’t mean I still don’t try.
* This is an exaggeration. Cultists usually don't inhabit bathrooms. And if they did, I'm sure they'd prefer the clean ones just like we do.

But seriously. Every single time this store is slightly busy, it's like every female in the universe decides to not clean up after themselves. Drives me nuts, especially when I'm at work.
Because then people keep telling me it's a mess, and I can't do anything about it because: 1) I'm on break; 2) That's not even remotely my job. Usually the store is so busy during the 'messes' that we can't even keep up! So telling me isn't going to do anything. Usually if I tell someone that CAN do something, they take their time until I come up and tell them a third/fourth/hundredth customer came up and said they were nasty.



I have even been next in the line and wondering how the door was locked but there were no feet to be seen. Then I heard her putting her feet on the floor and she was wearing 6inch stilettos.
I can't even stand up in those shoes.
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