Work Stories: Episode 6: Ooooo That Smell

Previously on Work Stories, I told a tale about the time my boss gave me some extra money to go see a movie.  I’ve never understood why she specifically told me to go see Journey to the Center of the Earth.  I likely never will.  Dwelling on it any longer will not get me anywhere, so I might as well move on.

This week, I present you with a shitty story.  Pardon the pun.  It’s a good tale of things that go on that people only sometimes talk about.  This is the dirty underbelly of the work force.  This is the area that people all know about but nobody wants to openly discuss because it’s not seen as a public thing to talk about.  If you couldn’t figure it out yet, this is a bathroom story.   Dun dun dunnnnn!

I was working a five hour shift at the museum on Christmas Day.  This started out as a day like any other.  I went into work.  I let people in for a price.  They went into the museum.  I got paid.  That’s every day for me.  Every day also involves me needing to use the washroom.  On Christmas, I just so happened to need to go number two.  I headed off to the men’s room to drop a log.

I’m not going to go into crazy detail about this.  You don’t need to know how big, wet or dry, sinker or floater, the colour, if there was blood in my stool, or how relieved I felt.  None of this mattered.  What mattered was that I was sitting on the toilet taking a poop.  Yes, I chose to use the word poop.  I was sitting in the peace and quiet, letting my body do its bodily functions when I heard a noise.

The noise I heard was the door to the washroom hallway.  It’s a noise I’m used to hearing.  Many times, I’ve been using the facilities, when someone would come in, try to get in the bathroom, realize it was locked, swear and leave.  Or they would use the women’s bathroom instead.

Maybe I should fill you in first.  We have public bathrooms.  But the staff also have to use the public bathrooms.  There is a men’s room, and a women’s room.  Each room is a one person bathroom.  There is a lock on the door.  If you’re smart, you lock the door.  If not, you’re asking for intrusion.  Now you are filled in.  Back to the story.

So I hear the door to the hallway open.  I know someone is coming to use the washroom.  I hear a couple footsteps.  Then I hear the dreaded locked door push.  He’s not getting in.  I’ve locked the door because I’m making a doodoo.  That’s when I hear it.  This is something I didn’t think I would ever hear in a million years.  I heard a liquid hitting the floor.

My first thought was the right answer.  Is there someone pissing on the floor?  Yeah.  There was someone letting all of their urine out on our nice clean floor.  Good thing, it wasn’t the carpet.  Bad thing, he pissed on our floor.  Then I hear him leave.

I finish my business, wash my hands, and walk out of the bathroom door.  There was a giant puddle on the floor right outside the door, confirming my thoughts.  Someone had pissed on the floor.  Who does something like this?  Why would you piss all over the floor of the museum because a bathroom door is locked?  Why wouldn’t you check the other washroom and go in there?  I know there was nobody in the women’s washroom.  This guy could have gone in there.

Do you know what it was?  Someone had let their ten year old go into the museum with their twelve year old.  The ten year old needed to pee.  He went to use the men’s room.  There was somebody in it.  I was in it.  Rather than embarrass himself by going in the women’s room, he would wait for the men’s.  But he couldn’t hold it.  He pissed on the floor.

That still doesn’t make this an acceptable thing to do.  If I went to your house, and the bathroom was locked, should I relieve myself all over your floor?  Of course not.  I wouldn’t do such a thing.  When I was ten, I wouldn’t have done such a thing.  I knew better.  I especially knew better when my parents were watching me.  You know what?  My parents would never have sent me in there by myself when I was twelve with my ten year old brother.  So they would have been watching me and made sure that something like this never happened.

Of course, I told the kids that they had to leave and that you don’t just go on the floor.  Then I had to clean up the mess.  Lucky me.  Merry Christmas.  Oh, and the kids got let back inside because, and I quote my superior “You were in the washroom, so he couldn’t use it.”  Yes.  That’s fair.

That’s my story for this week.  Better than the last couple, yes?  I think so.  Come back next week for another work story.  See you then.