Adventures in Shitting

Don't read this if you're easily grossed out, you pussy.

Picture this: a sunny, muggy, 100+ degree day in the middle of August. It's miserable out, but luckily, I have my trusty Ford E-350 Super Duty billboard box truck with its ice cold air conditioning, my mp3 player (thanks Woot!), and my FM transmitter. Just five fast hours of the best job ever.

So, I start my route. Smooth sailing all around town thus far, no wrecks or any major traffic congestion. An hour or so in, though, it hits me. I have to shit. Lucky for me, I'm very close to my local East Athens marketplace, the Wal-Mart Supercenter on Lexington Road. This is one of the few establishments where there are enough parking spots for me to take up two with my truck and not feel like a complete bastard, so I pull in and make a mad dash for the bathroom. I scan my options. There's two stalls, and stall one is occupied. Stall two's door is open! All right! Handicapped stalls rock. So I mosey on in, but wait! Oops, the gentleman shitting in stall number two forgot to close the door! Maybe if he was handicapped and for some reason unable to close the door, I could forgive him, but this guy seemed perfectly capable of shutting a door and locking it. Pissed off, distraught, and literally scared shitless, I made a hasty exit. Next destination: Wal-Mart Supercenter on Epps Bridge Parkway, about 10 miles away.

All right! I'm here. I walk into this Wal-Mart, squeezing my cheeks together. I enter the bathroom. Both stalls appear empty. I check the handicapped stall to make sure that I don't have a friend waiting for me. No one's there. Success! It's time to get down to business. By now, a I've got another person in the bathroom with me, a little kid. He gets in the stall next to me. No worries, so long as he's not in the stall WITH me. Anyway, the stage is set, and right as my big moment is coming, I get hit in the foot. The mood is destroyed. My neighbor has hit me in the foot with a roll of toilet paper that had just enough paper left on it to give it enough mass to have the momentum to make it from his stall to my feet. Game over. My shitting experience is ruined and delayed yet again. Adios, Wal-Mart, I'm off to greener, less interruptive pastures. This time, we're talking Target, and it's only 3.2 miles away.

I enter the store. Terrific! The bathrooms are much closer to the entrance than in Wal-Mart. Fewer people will be able to see me walking like I have to shit or something. I walk into the bathroom and it smells like Heaven. I don't know what they use to clean the bathrooms at Target, but I have to get some. The stalls are empty. I hop in one and prepare myself for what is a beautiful dump. I've got a couple visitors, but no one does anything directly to me to destroy this sacred event. Judging by the legs and feet of the people in the bathroom, they were probably standing in awe and reverence at the holy, pristine temple that is the Target bathroom.

Thank you for making my day, Target. This is only one of millions of reasons I prefer you to that shithole, Wal-Mart. I'll never cheat on you again.