Zig Zag #20

Sometimes in life, you have no choice but to clean up someone else’s shit. Literally.

I’m not talking metaphorical shit or even baby shit. I’m talking about full-on adult poo.

There’s nothing like a little poo to put you in your place and keep you humble.

I had been working at Trader Joe’s for a few months. On this particular night, I was working in the wet produce section. You know those shredded carrots you tossed into your salad? Yup, I strategically placed those on the shelf.

Unfortunately, the wet pro section is tucked away in the corner right near the hallway that leads to the store’s bathrooms. I was happily stocking bags of broccoli when a woman came from the bathroom hallway.

“Excuse me. Do you work here?”

In my head I’m thinking: Nope, I always wear this Trader Joe’s shirt with a huge hibiscus flower on it when I come to the grocery store. I also keep a name tag prominently placed on my person at all times. You know, in case, everyone needs to know my name no matter where I go.

But I’m a stellar customer service professional so I smiled and said, “Yes, ma’am. I work here.”

“Oh good. I wanted to let you know that there is poop on the floor in the bathroom.”

Dread filled my belly.

“Okay. Great! Thanks for letting me know. We’ll clean that up right away.”

A mate (manager) was writing the wet pro order behind me, and he overheard this conversation. I slowly turned around.

“So what’s the protocol here?” I asked.

“Well, it’s standard that the person who is approached by the customer who lets them know about an unfortunate bathroom incident is the person to clean it up.”

Shit. Literally. My shoulders drooped a little. I took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay. I got this.”

“The cleaning cart is in the hallway outside of the bathroom. You got this, Kathleen.”

I nodded again.

The first order of business was to get gloved up. Like with 3 layers of plastic gloves. Then I walked into that hallway like a surgeon about to perform the most dangerous surgery of his career. Hands up in the air. Elbows bent. I felt like a nurse should have appeared with a scrub covering or something. She didn’t.

I eyed the cleaning cart and rolled it to the scene of the crime. I opened the door and held my breath. I had no idea what I was about to walk into.

I gingerly rolled the cart in. I didn’t see it. What the hell? Where is the offending poo?

I moved the cart to the left. Oh no.

There it is. I rolled over it with the cleaning cart.

The poop had been in the middle of the floor. Not by the toilet. BUT THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR. How does that even happen?!

Now it was smooshed into the middle of the floor. I smooshed it! To my horror, I SMOOSHED IT!

Luckily, on the cleaning cart, there is a tool for exactly this situation. It’s a blade of sorts fashioned to a long wooden handle.

While breathing through my mouth, I scraped up the poop, used a paper towel to toss it into the toilet, and flushed it.

I sanitized and mopped up the floor. I did it.

I can’t believe I did it. I was a wasteless piece of shit for the rest of the night. I couldn’t focus. I had trouble giving out change to customers. I was so grossed out.

Nothing like cleaning up someone else's shit to bring you back down to earth. Sheesh. Okay, universe. I got it. Message received. You humbled me to the nth degree. Thank you.

Welp, hey, at least I got a good story out of it.

“Shit happens. Doesn't mean you have to step in it. But if you do, I would buy a new pair of shoes.”

New shoes, indeed.

Have a zig zag kind of week. Until we meet again.