"Who Wants to Volunteer?"

SO.

Do I have a story for you.

I was Prize Center at work (I work in an arcade, for those of you who don't know), and I was trading in tickets for some little kid when Mackenzie (one of the managers, hereafter referred to as Mack) comes up with my friend Hunter.

Mack says, "Hunter, you're going to fill in for one of these lovely ladies while one of them volunteers for something."

I'm alarmed, but I'm not overly concerned. "I'll do it," I reply, because the girl I'm working with is new (it's her second day), and I don't want to scare her.

Mack says, "All right. I need you to go to the last stall of the women's restroom and deal with whatever you find."

Now I'm freaking. "Do you know what it is?"

"I have no idea. Some lady just came up to me and told me that I should check the last stall. Double-glove, get the cleaning supplies, and be careful."

So I go to the stock room, put on two pairs of gloves, grab the supplies, and head to the bathroom, fearing the worst.

It was the WORST. POSSIBLE. THING.

Feces are smeared all over the floor, over the toilet, and on the toilet-paper dispenser-thing. The automatic toilet didn't flush, so it's all in the toilet, too. (I'm starting to fear that it's blocked, but I press the button to manually flush it, and it all goes down.) I look in the trash can, and it's got feces in it, too. Like someone reached into the toilet, scooped some up, and dumped it in the trash can.

I'm about to puke. And the worst thing is, I CAN SEE THE HAND PRINTS. IT IS CLEARLY AN ADULT'S HAND THAT DID THIS.

So, I step out of the stall, place my cleaning supplies in front of it, hope no one goes in, and I run to the kitchen.

"RUSSIA. DO. YOU. HAVE. BLEACH."

Russia blinks. "In the back. Under the sink."

So I run and grab the bleach. It's a full bottle (thank God).

I head back to the bathroom and pour it all over the floor, all over the toilet, all over the dispenser. And while it sits for a minute, I go out into the hall to clear my head ('cause that ammonia's noxious).

I go back in, and I start scrubbing with paper towels. I get every single bit off of the floor (IT'S DRIED), the walls, the toilet, and the dispenser. I throw everything in the trash, then I pour more bleach (let it sit while I go out and breathe), scrub everything a second time, and then lysol wipe the bleach can and my hands. (I scrub them for like five minutes in the sink with about half a gallon of soap.)

I return the cleaning supplies to the closet, the bleach to the kitchen (I used about half the bottle), and I grab a mop and a wet floor sign. I mop the floor in the bathroom twice, place the wet floor sign there, then put the mop back.

Then I grab the trash bag, tie it up, take it out (while still gagging from the bleach). I replace the bag, adjust the wet floor sign, scrub my hands more, then I go to the kitchen, grab myself some lemonade, and sit down for about ten minutes. Everyone asks what happened, and I tell them.

When I've recovered, I go back to the prize counter. I tell Mack what I found. She tells me that that's NOT THE FIRST TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED. It's happened at least five times in the men's restroom and twice in the women's.

Now that I'm home, I'm thinking... WHAT DID THIS PERSON TOUCH AFTER LEAVING THE BATHROOM. WHERE DID THEY WALK?! HAVE I TOUCHED SOMETHING THAT THEY TOUCHED?!?!?!

I'm betting someone gets some sort of disease from this, or at the very least gets sick. I hope it's not me. (I've inhaled enough ammonia for a lifetime.)

You can bet your bottom dollar I'm not going to volunteer for anything bathroom-related again. I've got this one under my belt. Next time, it's someone else's turn.