Poop-Mart May 17, 2008

Last year, while preparing my kids for summer camp, we all hopped in the car to run to that big discount store to stock up on essentials. We picked up towels, bug spray, sunscreen, socks and undies and more. We were about finished when my daughter decided to try on some cropped sweats that she desperately needed for summer camp. [I know you're thinking, sweats for summer camp, but we live in the Northwest where even if it's hot during the day-the nights can get chilly] I raise my arms up to yawn and stretch and plop them back down on the cart to await my daughters return. Just as my hand touched the cart, I felt something that didn’t feel right. As my hand neared my face, I hoped with all my might that it was some sort of food or candy concoction that I had gotten on my hand. Upon inspection it was none other than, you guessed it, POOP. Not bird poo, not dog poo, but good old-fashioned human poo. The squishy, but luckily not warm kind. The kind that maybe leaked out the side of a diaper and they child started decorating the edge of the cart with. I was beyond disgusted for obvious reasons, but I also suffer from CHCD [compulsive-hand-cleaning-disorder]. I hate dirty hands. Well, this is about as dirty as they get. The employee manning the dressing room realized I was in distress and brought over her spray bottle of cleaner and cleaned the cart off for me. I also lovingly asked her to spray my hand and forearm down. I was completely wiggin’ out and couldn’t get to the wipe aisle fast enough. I went through half the package cleaning my hands like they’ve never been cleaned before. Although I was completely traumatized by the incident I still needed to check out and get these items for camp. While I waited in line, it was all I could think about and of course had to blurt out and tell the cashier in hopes that no other person would have to suffer through what I just had. The cashier, bless his heart, proceeded to say, [insert total hick accent here] “You think that’s bad? One time I was working this here cash register and someone up and dropped a big ol’ bottle of ammonia. You talk about some stink! It done singed my nose hair.” My response to that was, “I’m sorry sir, but nothing [emphasis on the nothing] is worse then shopping at a store and putting your hand in some human poo.” I’m sure he was just trying to be nice and relate to my circumstances, but I’d taking sniffing chemicals any day over sticking my hand in human waste.