Unless you cleaned up human fecal matter last night, I win.
Yeah I don't think I even need to go over the other crappy parts of my week. I'm pretty sure I win with cleaning up adult diarrhea.
I kind of knew it was coming. It happens at least once a season. Our patrons are all on the tail end of the life spectrum. So some of them have issues. And I feel for them. I really do. That must be awful. I'm not sure if I'll leave the house if I ever get to the point where I can't hold my shit in my butt anymore.
But damn. Damn. I do not get paid enough to clean up someone's poop. I'm sorry. That's just the plain and simple truth of the matter. Even the person's who's job it is to clean this space does not get paid enough to clean up human fecal matter.
Especially when, apparently, this individual felt an "attack" coming on and ran down the stairs to the bathroom, leaving a trail behind.
Yes. You read that correctly.
I could follow the poop crumbs to the bathroom stall where I was completely traumatized. I babysit children, I've wiped a lot of butts, but this was traumatic. I may need to go to meetings. Poop Cleaners Anonymous.
The volunteers offered to help. But they were all interns and apprentices and I could only imagine how well that would go over with the parents who paid for this program. "So I paid $$$ for this program and you're cleaning up shit? Sue sue sue sue sue!"
So here I am, gloves, bleach spray, paper towels and garbage bag. Cleaning up human poop. Following trail, picking little pellets off the carpet. Scrubbing it out of the carpet in places.
When I worked for JBJ I had to scrub child pizza vomit out of carpet.
This. Was. Worse. I literally went catatonic at one point. Just staring. As the information was leaving the mouth of the volunteer, traveling through the air and entering my ears that someone had exploded in the men's room, my brain turned off.
Please don't think that I don't have sympathy for this man, who left the theatre in embarrassment, apologizing for what happened. I do. That must be humiliating. And I get not wanting to stick around when you are unable to help clean it up.
But what is truly humbling, is cleaning up that mess. And the truth is, I don't need to be humbled.
I know what I am. I know where my life is at. I get it. My blog isn't named Fabulous is the New Black. Not yet anyway.
I gotta do something. I gotta get out. I just want to go.
go.
go. go.
go.
away.
I think the summer does that to me. The summer and cleaning up human excrement.
Cowboy take me away.
Fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue...
Yeah I don't think I even need to go over the other crappy parts of my week. I'm pretty sure I win with cleaning up adult diarrhea.
I kind of knew it was coming. It happens at least once a season. Our patrons are all on the tail end of the life spectrum. So some of them have issues. And I feel for them. I really do. That must be awful. I'm not sure if I'll leave the house if I ever get to the point where I can't hold my shit in my butt anymore.
But damn. Damn. I do not get paid enough to clean up someone's poop. I'm sorry. That's just the plain and simple truth of the matter. Even the person's who's job it is to clean this space does not get paid enough to clean up human fecal matter.
Especially when, apparently, this individual felt an "attack" coming on and ran down the stairs to the bathroom, leaving a trail behind.
Yes. You read that correctly.
I could follow the poop crumbs to the bathroom stall where I was completely traumatized. I babysit children, I've wiped a lot of butts, but this was traumatic. I may need to go to meetings. Poop Cleaners Anonymous.
The volunteers offered to help. But they were all interns and apprentices and I could only imagine how well that would go over with the parents who paid for this program. "So I paid $$$ for this program and you're cleaning up shit? Sue sue sue sue sue!"
So here I am, gloves, bleach spray, paper towels and garbage bag. Cleaning up human poop. Following trail, picking little pellets off the carpet. Scrubbing it out of the carpet in places.
When I worked for JBJ I had to scrub child pizza vomit out of carpet.
This. Was. Worse. I literally went catatonic at one point. Just staring. As the information was leaving the mouth of the volunteer, traveling through the air and entering my ears that someone had exploded in the men's room, my brain turned off.
Please don't think that I don't have sympathy for this man, who left the theatre in embarrassment, apologizing for what happened. I do. That must be humiliating. And I get not wanting to stick around when you are unable to help clean it up.
But what is truly humbling, is cleaning up that mess. And the truth is, I don't need to be humbled.
I know what I am. I know where my life is at. I get it. My blog isn't named Fabulous is the New Black. Not yet anyway.
I gotta do something. I gotta get out. I just want to go.
go.
go. go.
go.
away.
I think the summer does that to me. The summer and cleaning up human excrement.
Cowboy take me away.
Fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue...
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