A couple of days ago I wiped someone’s shit off of a toilet I wasn’t even using.
It’s true. And probably weird. But I was in a public bathroom, taking a piss, when I spotted a smudge of poop on the seat of the toilet. My initial thought was, “Ew.” My second thought was, “Ew.” My third thought was, “Who leaves feces atop a toilet seat for another human to clean up?” I though of the poor soul charged with making sure the bathroom was neat and tidy; thought of him seeing the dash of poop and thinking, “I really just wanna go home.”
So I grabbed some toilet paper, made sure there was a good gap between my fingers and the waste, and wiped it away. Which was gross, but not as gross as one might think. I mean, we wipe our own asses every day—which means we take our hands and sorta put them at the point of the source. And, yeah, it comes from our body. But poop is poop is poop. I don’t see why Bob’s poop and Jennifer’s poop is any grosser than my poop. And, with two kids, I’ve certainly suffered a fair share of poop on my hands.
Anyhow, the poop is gone.