I can’t even think of a title for this without laughing…
Today I have a great guest post from Mimi Ruse over at I Heart Mimi. Upon reading this, you will see why my blog will someday become the #1 search result when someone Googles the word ”POOP”.
You will be surprised to know that Mimi Ruse and I met at CHURCH a few years back. I was in a small group with her, and I used to teach her daughter in the church preschool. (Scary thought!) We also roomed together at November’s I-Blog Conference. She’s one of those people you need to meet in your lifetime, just because you want her personality and creativity to rub off on you. The best thing is that apparently her and I share the same love/hate relationship with Wal-Mart.
When Sincerely Jenni said I could contribute to her amazing blog, I was so excited. She writes heartfelt content, and makes me laugh every time I read because her posts are so … her. I can imagine her telling these stories aloud, with exaggerated gestures and an enormous laugh. She writes exactly the way she speaks – with incredible passion. I want to be more like Jenni. I try to be more like Jenni. So I’m honored to be guest posting here. She’s my friend, and my mentor.
I told Jenni I would supply her with an excellent explosive diarrhea story. One that is supremely humiliating because I was the exploder. But I’ve decided to go a little more highbrow and instead talk about Wal-Mart restrooms.
What is the deal anyway?
I’ve always been terrified of public restrooms. I lock the stall door with my elbows. I flush with my foot. I don’t wash my hands because I’m convinced I will attract more disease by touching the faucet handles than if I go dirty. But last spring I began to notice that Wal-Mart bathrooms – every single one I go into – have been taken over by poop terrorists.
It began in May, when my husband and I traveled to a wedding in southern Missouri. Now think about it. Missourians loooove themselves some Wal-Mart. The pride has crept up from Arkansas, and they’re all giddy about their superstores. So I wasn’t surprised when I walked in and saw gleaming floors, bright lighting, and perfectly-arranged displays. The employees were actually smiling. The carts were inside the store (as opposed to rolling toward my car in the parking lot). I swear I expected Sam Walton’s ghost to float down the center aisle and offer me a happy-face sticker.
So as I merrily shopped, I thought to myself, “Hmm … I need to pee.” I told my husband I was going to use the restroom, and his jaw dropped. “You’re at Wal-Mart. You don’t pee here,” he said. I chuckled and brushed aside his worry, as if to say “Silly man. This is the enchanted Wal-Mart. The restroom will be sparkling clean and diamond encrusted.”
I chose the bathroom near the deli, simply because it was closest. I walked inside the one-holer, locked the door, and inhaled (something I NEVER do). It smelled flowery and everything was sparkling clean. I dropped trou and took a seat. I began to tinkle.
And then I saw it.
Shit-bomb on the wall. I am not lying.
It looked as though someone (probably an employee high on Wal-Mart juice) squatted next to the toilet and let ‘er rip. Or maybe it was a toddler that couldn’t wait one second longer while big sister was using the crapper? I don’t know, but it was cowpie on the wall. Dripping down. Puddling on the floor.
I started laughing hysterically.
And then I did the next logical thing. I took a picture with my Blackberry and sent it to my husband. The caption read “You were right.”
Side note: My husband and I have a long-standing tradition of photographing our poop and sending each other the pictures. It’s childish, but there’s nothing like getting a feces photo in the middle of a bad day.
I finished up my business and scurried back to where my husband was shopping. He was doubled over laughing. Tears were streaming down his face.
He’s a dick.
So now it’s become an obsession. If I go to Wal-Mart, I must use the restroom, just to see if there is a poop splat. And I am batting 1.000.
Poop on the floor is for amateurs. Even stall-door poop no longer impresses me. No, I’m looking for crap on top of the toilet paper dispenser, or up high on the stall wall. I especially appreciate the artists that leave a poop-booger combo, using the “flick it and stick it” method. Those are my favorite. My least favorite are the people that must get some on their finger while wiping, and then leave their poo-fingerprint on the toilet paper roll. V.o.m.i.t.
So that’s my story. Jenni gave me precious space on her blog, and this is the best I can doo-doo. But a little levity on a Monday is always welcome. Happy shopping!
6 Comments
Links to this Post
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A very special post about poop terrorists | i heart mimi — February 23, 2010 @ 8:54 AM
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roller derby diva — February 24, 2010 @ 2:47 AM
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roller derby diva — February 24, 2010 @ 2:48 AM
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By Courtenay
Twitter: IASoupMama
, February 22, 2010 @ 1:39 PM
I have had that same experience. I practically cry when my son says, “I have to go potty…”
Courtenay´s last blog ..Kissing Monday
By Paula, February 23, 2010 @ 5:54 PM
Okay, first I was laughing because I noticed the exact same thing about how NICE the Wal-Marts are in Missouri. The image of Sam Walton’s ghost handing you a smiley face sticker will forever be etched in my mind! But THEN I got to the poop bomb. OMG (and I never use that acronym, so consider yourself special)! That is disgustingly hilarious! I usually avoid the bathrooms, but you have just issued a challenge, Miss Mimi. Don’t worry; I’ll send you a Twit Pic if I find a good one.
By Jenni, February 23, 2010 @ 9:56 PM
I think I’m going to have to keep my eyes open in Wal-Mart restrooms now. Usually, I have to balance above the toilet, keep my eyes closed and try not to touch anything while holding my breath… all at the same time.