An employee of a small town "liberry" chronicles his quest to remain sane while dealing with patrons who could star in a short-lived David Lynch television series.

Wednesday, May 26, 2004

Ass Bandits

While in the can today, I noticed that our toilet was absolutely filthy. Not serial shitter filthy, mind you, but unclean all the same. I won't go into the specifics of the mess, but it was a job that required a liberal amount of Clorox Cleanup. Unfortunately, when I looked up to the shelf where the Clorox Cleanup is kept, it was missing.

Oh, I thought, it's been moved back to the cleaning supplies cabinet. Nope. The great big refill jug was in there, but the CC spray-bottle was not to be found.

Hmm. Maybe Mrs. C used it to clean up after story hour and didn't put it back. Nope, she hadn't seen it either. We asked around to the rest of the staff, but no one had used it recently nor seen it.

I was beginning to have images of some of our more fragrant and excretory-infatuated patrons having their way with our bowl and then horking the Clorox Cleanup so we'd be stuck with their "art".

Turns out the explanation is probably more mundane. On Monday, when the local mentally handicapped patrons were in, one of them had a bit of an accident and their aide had to go out to the group van and bring in a change of clothes and some cleaning supplies to... um... fix the problem. Mrs. A saw the aide carrying in a spray bottle of something presumably antiseptic. We theorize that the aide may have used our Clorox Cleanup to clean part of the accident from the bathroom itself and may have inadvertently taken it with her when she left.

So there I was in the restroom today, cleaning the toilet with Windex.

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