We're back! Yes, for a long time I forgot how to accept stories on to the site, but I have randomly and spontaneously remembered, so GET POSTING!!!

I know you HPB people have some good ones, let's hear 'em!

I thought of you all, today. But please pardon my melodrama, I learned it from TheDailyWTF.

Ring. Ring. It's a page from the register. I answer, and hear "Hey, I think there may be a problem in the men's room." ... Oh, no. I was at another counter, idly colouring Domo-kun onto a promotional video cassette. It'd been a fairly rotten day, with the staff dropping like flies, heading out on sick time. So the page was greeted with... enthusiasm. I took another minute to finish colouring in my little doodle.

Gloves? Check. Road cone? Check. I'm ready to face the depths of the abyss, while my cohorts stare on, afraid to ask. I parked the cone in front of the door and walked in, seeking my destiny. Flipping the lights on, there's no water on the floor. No poop smeared on the walls. Nothing grotesque offends my poor eyes. Indeed, there is no odour. Perhaps it's nothing.

I check the first stall. The urinal checks out normal. Someone even flushed for once. That's nice.

I slowly cracked open the second stall door, taking a peek, and found a stew simmering in the pot. Black. Shiny. Gross. I quietly shut the door and return to the break room. Perhaps my scowl said it all, but nobody said a word to me as I pulled out three trash bags and grabbed a spare receptacle. One bag for the can. One more bag for the can. The third bag was for my arm. Engage HazMat mode.

Upon further investigation, yes, someone had tried to flush their big, black, poop-filled underwear in our toilet.

So there I was standing at the cash register on average day at Half Price Books. Everything about the day had been average. Business had been average, buys had been average, and the constant parade of conspiracy theorists, bible-thumpers, and senility had been average. Suddenly the door swung open. In walked one very old, very fat, and very shameless, shameless man. He wasn't clean by any definition of the word. He wore coke-bottle glasses, velcro shoes, slacks, and a half-way unbuttoned shirt tucked into his depends adult diapers. When I saw the barely buttoned shirt tucked into the depends I knew we were in for trouble. "WHERE'S THE BATHROOM?!?", he loudly yelled, "I've really gotta go!" He stood there with a look of emergency on his face, hands flailed out as if to announce the importance of his pending bowl movement. My compatriot and I had the immediate reaction of pointing, pointing as hard as we could, in the direction of the bathroom. He scampered towards the men's room. At the time it was occupied so he began to bang on the door, and announcing to the occupant his need to use the facilities immediately. "I REALLY GOTTA POOP!" he kept saying. Finally the occupant left. The man plowed into the bathroom, and there, there among the mirror, the paper towel dispenser, the toilet, and the sink, he unleashed what I can only imagine was a torrent of poop. If his mournful cries were at all indicative of the magnitude of the poop it must have been like a hurricane katrina of poop. "OH GOD! OH GOD!", he kept yelling. He was yelling quite loudly as well. For at least fifteen minutes he yelled, and announced every new development in his ongoing poop. He then realized the bathroom was bereft of toilet paper. He began screaming for toilet paper. His infantile mind couldn't comprehend it, "HOW CAN'T THERE BE ANY TOILET PAPER!?! WHO EVER HEARD OF...?" It is important to mention that at this point the door was open, his trow and depends still around his ankles, and he was holding on to the door handle and yelling to the whole store. I had the unfortunate fortune of grabbing toilet paper for this man. I grabbed it as quickly as I could and handed it to him, my face turned away in horror and disgust. Whatever happened next he calmed down for about five more minutes. Then the impossible happened. When done pooping, he calmly walked out of the bathroom and began browsing the clearance section, which is immediately adjacent to the bathroom. Literally the clearance section is not more than two feet away from the bathroom. And most his poop had landed on the bathroom floor. In fact, there was a proud, giant, and unrepentant pile of poop directly in the middle of the bathroom floor. Other customers browsing the section ran in terror. Fortunately a comrade who shall remain nameless cleaned up the cornucopia of poop. The man purchased a few things and refused to ring him out, in fear that he might make physical contact with him in some fashion and contract the whatever disease that had turned him into a shameless, stupid, incontinent, and bastardly old man. He left, never to be seen again. But we cannot forget this day. We must never forget this day. This was the day of the poop that lasted forever, and affect everyone in the store, indeed everyone in the United States. I can't forget. The man's cries of "OH GOD! I REALLY GOTTA POOP!" haunt me in my most private moments, and shall torment me forever, and ever.

Yesterday, I was taking some nasty, dirty cardboard boxes from a buy we did, out to the dumpster. As I approached the bathroom, I noticed a smell that was easily the worst I've ever smelled coming out of our bathrooms, getting stronger, the closer I got.

My first thought was that someone had, yet again, taken a big ripe dump in our bathrooms and stunk up the whole alley, as they do repeatedly throughout the day, every day, without fail.

It got worse and worse as I approached the bathrooms, so I stopped outside the men's room to peek in. I saw poop smeared all over the floor, the toilet seat, and the toilet ring (the seat was up--I wonder why? Did someone go in there to pee alongside that mess? Had the person who did this, put it up for some reason? Or what? I don't know).

There were still two customers shopping back in that area, despite the smell. Now, I don't think that there is a person on our staff who isn't already amazed at the smells the customers endure (without flinching or otherwise seeming to notice at all) to shop back there. "Oooooooooooh... Doooollar boooooooooks..."

One of these customers turned to me and wrinkled her nose. This is the first time I've ever seen a customer react to a smell back there. I told her I was sorry that she had to be around for that, and she said, "It's not your fault. But I do think I'll move." The other guy stayed. Maybe he was anosmic.

Oh well. At least it cleaned up easily enough.

This happens far too often. I don't understand it. Is someone doing this on purpose? Is this someone who had a serious accident and didn't clean up after themselves (or even let us know that the bathrooms needed attention, NOW)? Is it someone who, for some other reason, can not control themselves? In the latter case, the person is often accompanied by someone who helps them around--why do those people never come up to us and let us know that there is a mess? It's always just back there, waiting. Ugh. This was far worse than the last time I had deal with a mess like this.

I've worked in this bookstore for two and a half years, and before tonight, I'd never had to deal with anything I'd consider to be worthy of this website. I'd also like to dedicate this story to the heroic employee who, on only her second time cleaning the bathrooms, dealt with one of the worst messes I've heard of (see the "Wall Paintings" story from December 11th, 2005).

When I went into the men's room tonight, the first thing I noticed were the shreds of toilet paper all over the floor. Then, on the walls and in the sink, I saw long poop smudges, which were obviously made by fingers, as well as some splattering and smearing on the walls, sink, and toilet seat.

And then I showed everyone who was working. They were thoroughly repulsed. :)

It didn't smell, and it cleaned up easily, so since I had lots of protection (two pairs of rubber gloves, thick wads of paper towels, and so on) between me and the mess, it didn't bother me as much.

I do not believe that whoever did this did it on purpose. I don't think that they could control themselves. (I would have assuredly been far more irritated if I thought I had reason to think otherwise.)

And actually, in all seriousness, I was bothered by it a lot less than I was by the customer I'd dealt with right before I went back to clean the bathrooms. I have a short list of customer behaviors/actions that I absolutely can not stand. Each of these things is something that a person does which is unreasonable, mindless or outright rude, and is usually at least partially deliberate, and at the very least a conscious decision on their parts to behave this way. This person managed to pull off three in one brief transaction.