Tag Archives: feces

Another Day in the Life of a Camp Host

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My friend the camp host told me this story right after it happened to him on a Thursday morning. I didn’t witness it with my own eyes, but I’ve always known the guy to be honest.

The regular hosts of the campground were on their day off, so my friend was patrolling. He was responsible for cleaning the restrooms, preparing for the arrival of campers with reservations, checking in new campers, and collecting money from folks who didn’t have reservations so hadn’t prepaid. His arrival report told him someone would be checking into yurt #3 that afternoon, so he went over to unlock its door.

He opened the door after unlocking it and was hit by a terrible smell. Upon investigation, he found a pile of dog poop (his words) under the bed.

The previous campers had checked out sometime prior to 2pm on Sunday, meaning the feces had sat under that bed for four nights. The camp hosts must not have gone into the yurt to sweep the floor or otherwise check for cleanliness. The way my friend described the smell, there was no way anyone could have walked into that yurt without realizing something was very, very wrong.

What kind of person lets a dog defecate under the bed of a rented yurt? Yes, maybe the dog had an accident. I’ve been responsible for dogs who’ve had accidents on the floors of rented lodging. But what kind of person doesn’t clean up after their dog that’s had an accident. From what my friend said, there’s no way the dog’s person could have failed to notice what the dog had done.

It takes all kinds, The Man said, but I think leaving dog feces under a bed for someone else to clean up is unacceptable behavior.

Being the trooper he is, my friend the camp host removed the feces from under the bed and disposed of it properly. I think he even swept the floor before propping the door open to air out the yurt. It was just another day in the life of a camp host.

Sunday in the City

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When I left SuperMegaBabylon, I thought I wouldn’t see the city again for at least a year. Then my dad died, and I had to leave my van somewhere, had to fly from some airport to the town where his memorial service was being held. After less than two weeks, I was back in the city.

I parked my van in front of a friend’s house, on a residential street. That’s where I had the cab driver drop me off upon my return from the homeland. I barely thought about brushing my teeth before I crawled into bed and passed out for a good eight hours.

On Sunday morning, I tidied the van a little, then headed out to visit another friend and get some lunch.

I remembered where my bus stop was and headed that way. As is often the case, the bust stop was on a busy street. I approached the bench at the stop, expecting to sit until my chariot arrived. As I got closer, I saw something on the far side of the bench’s sitting surface.

What is that? I wondered.

My next thought was Are you fucking kidding me?

Someone had shat upon the bus stop bench.

There was both a pile of feces on the sitting surface, as well as remains of a more liquid consistancy running down the legs of the bench and on the sidewalk. GAG! Who does such a thing?

I understand when you gotta go, you gotta go. I also understand the lack of public restrooms in many urban settings. I’d even understand if someone had used the bench as a bit of cover and relieved him or herself behind it. But shitting on the bench? It was just unkind to everyone who had to catch a bus on that corner.

I didn’t get any closer to the bench. I’d just stand until the bus arrived, thank you very much. I did shoot multiple furtive glances in the direction of the bench. Had I really seen feces on a bus stop bench? Was it really there? Each glance in that direction told me yes and yes, both by sight and smell.

During one of my furtive glances, I noticed a message in white spray paint left on the street. What did it say? I walked a little closer. The message read “#Fuck Trump.” The political commentator had also drawn a hand flipping the bird to whomever chanced to look. Here was an example of taking it to the streets in the most literal sense.

trump

I wondered if the feces on the bus stop bench and the anti-Trump message were related in any way other than proximity. Maybe someone had jumped from a bus, scrawled the message on the pavement, and had been so overcome by the thought of Donald Trump that s/he had to take a dump. However, if this had been the case, I think s/he would have used the opportunity to further comment upon Trump by shitting on or near his name. I’ll never know for sure, but I think these incidents were unrelated.

Dear Dog Owners

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Dear Dog Owners,

When I’m working in the parking lot (or at any other time, for that matter), I do not want to discuss dog feces.

I know what you’re carrying in the small plastic bags. I don’t want to hear about it.

I don’t want to listen to you ramble on about your dog’s ability to know exactly when you are at the midpoint of any walk so it can take a dump there and force you to carry the bag of “poop” for as long as possible.

(By the way, when did we as a society decide on “poop” as our acceptable term to use when referring to feces? Why can we not say “feces”? “Poop” may be a cute word, but using it doesn’t make bodily waste any cuter.)

When you put the little plastic bag full of your dog’s feces in the trash can, don’t tell me you’re leaving me a “present.” Don’t tell me it will be there later when I’m ready for it. You may think you’re making a funny little joke, but you’re not. You’re being gross, not charming, and I don’t want to hear it.

If you’re going to do me a favor and put the bag of doggy waste in a trash can by the restrooms instead of in the one I sit near during my shift, thank you, but don’t tell me all about it. Yes, I know shit stinks. Yes, I appreciate not having to smell shit every time someone opens the trash can. But you’re not going to get any extra heaven points if you tell me all about the great favor you’re doing me.

Hey, I know it’s embarrassing to carry around a bag full of fecal matter. That’s why we don’t need to talk about it. Here’s what you do: Walk directly to the trash can. Don’t stop to make chitchat. Open the trash can’s lid. Deposit the bag of fecal matter in the trash can. Replace the lid. Don’t say anything about what you just did! Don’t worry, I won’t say anything either. We’ll pretend it never happened. It’s ok. Some things don’t need to be discussed.

If your dog defecates anywhere in the parking lot, for goodness sake, pick up the waste and dispose of it properly. Don’t leave the feces where it fell to collect giant blue flies until I notice it and pick it up. Your dog and your dog’s feces = your responsibility.

And while I have your attention: Don’t let your dog piss on the iron ranger. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. You should pay attention to where your dog is squatting or raising a leg. But if you’re not paying attention and I ask you not to let your dog pee on the iron ranger, don’t get all offended and tell me your dog wouldn’t do that. You dog would so do that, especially if your dog is male. But we workers have to put our hands on that iron ranger when we extract the self-pay envelopes, and we’d prefer not to touch dog piss while we’re doing it.

Sincerely,

Your parking lot attendant

 

Guess What I Did…

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Guess what I did this morning before breakfast.

Go on, guess.

Ok, I’ll tell you.

This morning before breakfast, I cleaned human feces off restroom walls.

Unless you are extremely squeamish, go ahead and keep reading. I won’t get too graphic, and there are no photos. It’s really not that big of a deal, except it was my first time, and you know, the first time’s always special.

It was before 6:30 this morning when I went to clean the restrooms. It should have just been a sweep and hang (the “hang” referring to adding full rolls of toilet paper to the holder), but when I lifted the lid of the first toilet, I found evidence that someone had experienced some gastrointestinal distress in the night. Bummer. I was going to have to do a little more work than I’d expected, but no huge big deal.

So I swept the floor and put out a new roll of toilet paper. Then I collected cleaners and hauled a bucket of water from the tank on my campsite. I cleaned everything up and moved on.

One might think a camper would have only one bout of explosive diarrhea in one night. One might think that if a camper had more than one bout of explosive diarrhea in one night, the camper would try to keep the mess contained and stick to using one toilet. One would be wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

When I went into the second restroom, I found signs of gastrointestinal distress on the floor, on the outside of the toilet, on the two walls closest to the toilet. Gag!

But I did my job and cleaned everything all spic and span.

If the person was sick last night, I have sincere sympathy and hope s/he gets better soon.

If the person was drunk, I hope s/he has a hell of a hangover.

Of course, this situation could be karmic retribution for something I (or someone in my party) left behind in a restroom for a camp host to clean up.

My co-worker says I’ve been initiated, and I’m a real camp host now.

(Written June 21, 2015)

Does a Bear Shit in the Campground?

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I took this photo on the afternoon of May 18, on the same side of the campground where I saw the bear prints. I think it’s bear shit, but I can’t find an exactly matching picture on Google images. Can anyone confirm or deny?

I should have put something for size comparison in the photo. I didn’t think about size comparison until just now. In any case, it was a pretty big pile. And it’s obviously not from a horse or a cow. What animal could it be from other than a bear?