I Love You THIS MUCH Poo.

By now it should be generally understood that I am not legally permitted to work in Canada.

Friday night (rather, Saturday morning at 3:30 or so), I was at the movie theatre not working, like usual.  As Poor Kyle was using a leaf blower to tornado all the popcorn from the back rows of each theatre to the front [a treacherous task that’s not nearly as easy as it sounds, especially when the wretched little puffs of popped corn get trapped in sticky spills of Slurpees™], I was {not} cleaning restrooms.  Of which there are five.

And in those restrooms are toilets.  Countless toilets, or so it seems.

Now, I have had many jobs in my life, some of which have been most unglamorous.  One summer I was a delivery driver for Jason’s Deli™ [totally not worth the effort, by the way–don’t even bother]; I’ve delivered newspapers [which has caused me to loathe the texture of newsprint–I can hardly touch a paper today without cringing]; and worked as a cleaning person for multiple businesses and residencies [none of which have been too horrible…just slightly degrading].

This movie theatre job is by far the most un-classy of them all, combined.  Tons of filthy, soggy garbage [and I do mean “tons” in the literal sense], numberless buckets of murky mop water filled with degreaser, and that smell of wet, stale popcorn…I will never forget it…any of it.

At any rate, I was there {not} scrubbing toilets, while Poor Kyle was busy {legally} leaf-blowering himself into an early grave, and I came across a men’s restroom with an unusual amount of water seeping from the stalls.  With a sinking feeling in my gut, I approached the stalls, knowing what I would find behind Door Number 3–a flood.

And of course I was right (as I am wont to be), but it was the sort of right that made me wish I’d never gotten anything right in my life, if only I had been wrong about this one…

There it sat, my deadly foe: a toilet, filled to the brim with yellowish water.  It had a layer of bunched up waste paper skimming the top.  I didn’t have to move the paper to know what was beneath, but I did anyway (wearing rubber gloves [which aren’t very comforting during such a crisis, because I was still using my dadgum hands to tinker around in a toilet full of feces]), and what I saw made my insides churn…

A cow had come to see a movie {presumably “Quantum of Solace”} and had used the toilet, laying a mound of manure so huge that it simply couldn’t be flushed, though our bovine friend had kindly tried (hence the water everywhere).  From the looks of things, he’d had too much popcorn and it went–quite literally–right through him.

And I drew the line.  “I am a cleaning person,” I thought to myself, “which may not be very fancy, but it works.  I will clean toilets.  I will clean floors.  I will clean spills of nacho cheese.  Shoot–I would even clean human waste if it was smeared on the toilet seat, because that would be filth, and I could see the reasoning.  But this?  This is plumbing.  I am not a plumber–I don’t know how to plumb.  I draw the line at this.  There has to be a line somewhere, and this is where it is.”

I was in hysterics at the end of my monologue, and as luck would have it, Poor Kyle was just then coming to ask me a question.  I took him to see my mess of dung, and he looked at me sympathetically.

“You’ll just have to use a plunger,” he assessed with a half-smile, but I didn’t want his sympathy or his smirks…I wanted him to do it for me.

“No!” I declared passionately, “I cannot be expected to do this!  I am not a plumber…I’m not doing it.  I’ll clean everything I can and just leave a note for management that they need to call a professional…”  Poor Kyle reasoned with me that, in fact, this was part of the job description, but I was persistent and wouldn’t budge.  So he said he’d do it when he was finished with the popcorn blowing, but before he vacuumed.  Which was exactly what I wanted to hear; only I didn’t expect to feel so guilty when I heard it…

“Poor Kyle works so hard all week, just to have his weekends ruined by this lousy piece of poo job, and he’s already sweating buckets, and we have at least five more hours here, and even though I’m exhausted, I know he is, too…  There’s no way I can make him plunge this lousy toilet, too.”

So I did it.  I found the plunger, which turned out to be some ridiculous accordion-looking thing and took me awhile to understand…and I plunged.  I plunged that scat with a fervor I didn’t know I had energy to muster.  I plunged the mucky-muck over and over, forming a rhythm that worked nicely with my sentiments, “I [plunge] hate [plunge] this [plunge] job [plunge] I [plunge] hate [plunge]…”

Of course, the privy was already overflowing when I started, and my sloshing around only got more gallons of water everywhere…I learned to keep my mouth closed, that’s for sure.  Eventually, the excrement went the way of all poop, and I wiped my brow with the shoulder of my t-shirt. I was more tired than before, and I’d lost my faith in humanity, to boot.  I’d done it–I defeated the ordure and could carry on my cleaning way, but I was changed…

…I had taken one for the team; I sacrificed my own personal comfort so my husband wouldn’t have to.  I felt like I had never shown my love for Poor Kyle in a more profound way.

How do I love thee, Poor Kyle?  Let me count the waste…

About Camille

I'm Camille. I have a butt-chin. I live in Canada. I was born in Arizona. I like Diet Dr. Pepper. Hello. You can find me on Twitter @archiveslives, Facebook at facebook.com/archivesofourlives, instagram at ArchivesLives, and elsewhere.
This entry was posted in Canada, fiascos, Married Life, oh brother what next, what a nightmare, woe is me. Bookmark the permalink.

19 Responses to I Love You THIS MUCH Poo.

  1. Holly Decker says:

    that IS love.
    people think love is mushy kisses and hugs… but oh the kind of love it takes to plunge someone else’s nasty poop so that your lover doesn’t have to.
    wow.
    i seriously find this story comparable to the nastiness of your roach entry. and i keep going back and forth on which one is worse.
    you did a heck of a job describing it… and all i have to say is- its amazing what you do at your “non-job”. they better be paying you what you are worth!!!!!!!!
    and ps…. that is the weirdest plunger i have ever seen.

  2. Cristin says:

    Oh my – that is a good story. Wow, now that you’ve done that, you can do ANYTHING. Maybe even get “stitched up down there” one day… I mention this, because I think childbirth may be even more disgusting.

  3. raygon says:

    HAHAHA! A cow! You always get me laughing.

  4. gross. you’re way nicer than me.

  5. HeatherPride says:

    The depths of your love are boundless!! I am so sorry for you – I cannot believe someone would come into a public bathroom and drop a load like that. Were they saving up for a week, or what? Maybe invited a few friends to join in? What gives with the general public? I will loathe them with you.

  6. Anonymous says:

    Millie,

    Words cannot describe my unspeakable horror and disgust. I am so very sorry. I will not judge you for quitting, not one bit.

  7. Whitney says:

    Im so sorry. IM sure PK thinks you are the hottest woman alive right now. He probably is bragging to all his friends how wonderful you are at this very moment. You are definitely going to the celestial Kingdom.

  8. anonymous says:

    wow i would never have done that. you’re my hero, oh brave one

  9. anon10 says:

    Camille, you are officialy my role model!
    How you could stand such a hideous, disgusting and revolting job I will never know.

    You are amazing. That’s all I can say.

  10. Camille says:

    Holly Decker– I know, that plunger made me feel uncomfortable. It’s odd.

    Cristin– You just had to bring up childbirth, didn’t you?? Meh.

    Raygon– I really do think a cow moved in.

    Angela Hardison– Do you really think I’m nicer than you? Cool!! I’m not usually nicer than ANYONE, on account of my natural bitterness toward life.

    HeatherPride– You hit the nail right on the head; I DO loathe the general public. That’s exactly it. Thanks for being on my team!

    Anonymous my sister– I think the real reason you wouldn’t judge me for quitting is because it would keep me in Mesa longer this Christmas…

    Whitney– I know he appreciated it, but I’m not so sure that plunging a toilet really amplified my “hotness” level. If anything, it just made me stink a little bit, which isn’t really hot at all…

    Anonymous– Who are you? I guess I am pretty brave, now that you mention it…

    Anon10– Who are you? I’m glad you can look up to me for plunging poo, but trust me: I REALLY don’t recommend it. It’s wretched.

  11. Okay, I almost puked just reading about it. Poop is definitely one of my extreme gag activators. if that were me, I would have had to clean up all of my own puke off of the floor too, because I couldn’t have done it. I don’t know how anyone can stand to be a plumber. ick.

    the whole pooping thing does bring up a good point, as to why a person would not want to poop anywhere but their own house… How embar(ass)ing to not have your poop flush ANYWHERE let a lone a theatre where the person who tries to go in there after you KNOWS what you’ve done.

    then again, maybe the poor fool who did that poops in public so as not to break his own commode at home…

    again, sad story. I truly feel sorry for you, that is the worst {not} job i have ever heard of.

  12. Jami says:

    good post, as always. I am sorry, that is seriously gross gross gross!
    At least it wasn’t a girly toliet with poo, AND dirty tampons…there is always something to be gratful for!

  13. Your story was both gut splitting funny and gross in the same moment! I had stop reading mid-way through and finish later because the graphic details were just too much! Had it been me I think my dinner would have ended up on that floor. And that is the strangest plunger I have ever seen!

  14. Camille says:

    Molly Shumway Rawlins– I know, right? People can be so bold sometimes.

    Jami– Oh don’t worry, though: I have to empty all the feminine hygiene trash cans out of each bathroom stall in the ladies’ restrooms, and let me tell ya…people are disgusting.

    Jennifer Roach– Really? And here I thought I was holding out on details. Sorry to gross you out so much. Imagine how I felt!

  15. Lindsay says:

    you are something camille…facing popcornkernelmanure in a public restroom without a hazmat suit on is a new form of bravery in my opinion… something about having to plunge it when it’s not your own, is just plain wrong.

  16. Lauren says:

    You are a better wife than I. I would have tossed Ted and plunger and freakin ran away.

  17. Kyle's Granny says:

    Oh, Camille, can’t you clean sidewalks or something…that non-job is so grungy. I so much admire your pluck, both of you, putting up with the filthiness of mankind in order to make a little extra money. What a dreadful price to pay. And I’m so afraid you will never be able to look popcorn in the face throughout the rest of your days. And I have a wonderful old recipe for pink popcorn! just the ideal little giftie for casual acquaintances at the Christmas season. Never mind…..your sensitivities must be getting completely eroded. Granny loves you and my dear grandson Kyle. Thanks for your bravery, your indomitable courage in handling a very sti(n)cky situation.

  18. Kimberly says:

    Oh that’s some serious nasty!!! I cringed through reading that entire entry!!! You are one brave woman, I couldn’t have done it. And to have a sense of humor about it afterward….amazing. Seriously girl, you are a superhero after that.

  19. niki says:

    what a treat to catch up on your blog today!!! these have been some highly entertaining posts. great work!

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