The Mad Pooper

The Mad Pooper

 Then there's the story of THE MAD POOPER. 

It was just another crazy busy Saturday afternoon at the store.  The manager on duty this day had no real love for me.  I wanted to go to college and get a degree, he apparently did not have one, or maybe was having marital problems or bowel problems, or something else.  Anyway, I was on the clean up duty as well as my usual chore of sacking and making small talk with customers.

I was close enough to the office that when I saw him shaking his head while talking with a man, then look at me, I knew I had a sticky chore to do.  What would it be this time?  Maybe something simple like spilled vegetables, Nah, couldn't be so lucky.  It's probably an entire gallon of milk, that would be more like it. 

 The manager said, "Rice, come here."  He had a strange look on his face as he told me to clean up a mess by the magazine rack. "Well, he's got a strange looking face anyway," I thought as I rounded the corner to the magazine rack. 

At first I didn't see it.  My mind had made this pattern that said "look for spills and broken containers."  I was not looking for a semi-solid.  No, this couldn't be.  I shook my head as I cautiously approached the object, disbelief being my primary emotion.  NO, NOT IN A GROCERY STORE! 

There before me was a single, lets say "log" of excrement.  This joker was BIG!  I quickly looked around for the Great Dane that did this, and boy was I going to tell that owner off and glare as He cleaned this up!  But then it hit me.  The smell.  You know, the human smell.  This was not the work of an animal.  Well, an animal for sure, but not a four legged one. 

SOMEONE DROPPED A LOG BY THE MAGAZINE RACK IN A GROCERY STORE!  And by the looks of the object, it was not transported there by any other means that a human lower intestine.  Yuck!  "This is really funny, who would do this?  There must be a Mad Pooper on the loose.", I thought.  Then I remembered why I was there.  "This isn't funny!" I said as I went to get something to clean up the mess. 

Returning with rubber gloves I confiscated from the soap isle and a roll of paper towels I took from the paper isle (I figured, "let them complain, and I'll get hepatitis suddenly and have to go home), I proceeded to make the largest wad of paper towels one roll would make.  Holding the basketball size wad of paper in one hand, and my nose with the other, I cautiously approached the loathsome object.  Nearer and nearer I crept, eyes glued on the refuse as if it were going to strike me like a snake. 

Because my eyes were glued to the target, I did not notice the large lady with the blue hair as she barreled around the corner with her shopping cart.   Just as I was about to do my chore, the rear wheel of her cart hit the dreaded poop dead center.  I wish she had plowed into me!  Instead, to my utter horror, her wheel had picked up the cigar shaped evil and was flapping it down with every revolution as she plodded along. 

"Stop!"  "Lady stop!"  But the lady was too preoccupied with her mission to hear my words, on she went Plop, Plop, plop.  When the fecal matter finally let go (I know now it was indeed an animate object of evil intent, out to destroy me), it had multiplied itself into a twenty-five foot brownish, stinking line.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to curse.  I definitely wanted to kill some low life person out there who I would forever call THE MAD POOPER. 

 Did he ever "strike" (or should I say "plop") again?  Probably.  But not in my store on my shift.  There is probably no possible way of knowing what an irate, hormone driven teenager  can do with (or place) an industrial size mop.  Do I have an idea who did it?  Well, come to think about it, the man who told my manager about the mess DID have a smirk on his face.  I hope he's proud.  I would like to  tell his mother.

 What did an eighteen year old man learn from all this?  Sometimes you have to do the dirty work, watch out for fingers when you close car doors, and there are some pretty weird people running loose out there.  Also, a dozen years later I would have many, many cleaning opportunities with my not-so-mad pooping baby daughters & son, so I guess every experience has some value.