My first job ever was a courtesy clerk (AKA supermarket bitch) at Top Food and Drugs in Lake Tapps, WA.

I took the job very seriously. Not as serious as campus safety officers, but serious nonetheless. The job was a coveted position among students of the nearby high school who, like me, had resumes limited to qualifications like “C-Team Baseball Captain” and “Taking 4 AP Classes.” Eventually, I wanted to move up to the head courtesy clerk position, which, in hindsight, was basically a glorified title for the teacher’s pet of the courtesy clerks.

Most days at Top Foods were not special, but there is one day that I will not and cannot forget.

It was a hot July day in 2010 at the store. Other than the sun making a cameo in the normally rainy Washington weatherscape, it seemed a pretty normal day…

I clocked in and checked the daily courtesy clerk duty sheet.

You probably know that courtesy clerks push carts and bag groceries. You may also be interested (but most likely not) to know that we also:

Put back the perishable items you changed your mind about. That means I have to walk all the way from the registers to the dairy aisle because you remembered last minute that Greek yogurt makes you gassy,

Hazard the perils of switching an empty propane tank for a new one. Oh you’re having a summer cookout with your friends on a sunny Saturday afternoon? Chill, let me go move this eight ton fucking gas tank into your Miata for you so you can go do that while I work… and of course,

Putting milk cartons on top of people’s bread when bagging groceries (Fuck you and your bread choices. I have no respect for rye.)

My first duty on the list was pushing carts. Reluctantly, I walked to the courtesy clerk area and put on my reflective vest, which of course works best in the sunlight. But before I go out to the carts, I have to do my bathroom check.

A bathroom check consists mainly of looking the bathrooms once over to stock the paper towels, empty the trash cans filled with paper towels, and make sure there are no messes, usually of used paper towels.

You quickly begin to hate paper towels as a courtesy clerk.

I opened the door of the men’s bathroom, checklist in tow. Immediately, I could sense there was a disturbance in the restroom force. I check the paper towels. Stocked. Then I check soap dispensers. Soapy as fuck. Finally, I opened the stall’s door, and that’s when my face turned as white as a Mormon wearing those hideous toe shoes at a Michael Buble concert.

Feces. Poop. Shit. Everywhere. Just… everywhere. Wall-to-wall. Floor-to-ceiling. I’d watched enough CSI up until this point in my life to understand the splatter patterns. The poor soul who administered this was in pain for a while, probably stuck in line before he could get to the restroom, and when he got to the throne, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He was probably buying Pepto.

Even more fucked up was that it was apparent to me that this Jackson-Pollock-poop-painting had been here for at least an hour. It was beginning to dry. That means my asshole buddies and coworkers had skipped cleaning the shit knowing that someone else (me) would have to take care of it.

And so I did. I figured that if I wanted to become head courtesy clerk one day, I wouldn’t let some poop get in my way. I scrubbed the stink out of that shit, literally. I felt like Cinderella, before the fairy Godmother and after her stepmother shits all over the chamber floor (I think that’s a part of the Grimm Brother version). For my efforts, my boss gave me a… buckle your seat belts… $5 gift card to the store. Bless her soul. Not a promotion, but definitely $5 closer to one.

So, it got hotter. Only one more cart pushing hour before my lunch. Unfortunately, as you remember, cart pushing equals another bathroom check.

On the walk towards the restroom, I saw some water splashed on cardboard and I get ‘Nam style flashbacks. I stood at the threshold of the men’s room. “Lightning won’t strike twice, Mike,” I tell myself in consolation before entering. “Quit being a bitch.” Before I can say another word, the door flies open and flattens up my face. The guy apologizes, and I nod to negate my embarrassment and pain. Upon entering the bathroom, with caution, I take a good look around. At first glance, everything looks bueno. Paper towels looking good. Urinals fabulous. I bravely look into the stall as well. Perfect. Shitless. As it should be.

With my chin held high, I venture into the women’s restroom and go through my checklist. Paper towels. Stocked. Urinals. Nonexistent. I opened the stall door and…

…I wish I could make this up, people..

Feces. I stood there staring at another heap of human waste for a while and couldn’t believe my own two eyes.

The first occurrence was obviously an accident. I’ve taken enough power poops to know that. But this time, it wasn’t everywhere. This time, the poop sat in a neat, calculated pile in front of the toilet. Meditated. Purposeful. Mocking me. There was no brown trail leading from the point of impact to the toilet bowl to suggest a misfire. Instead, the person who did this knew what they were doing. This shit was intentional. This shit was personal.

The shit sat still, staring at me, goading me with its many folds and ripples to clean it up like the courtesy clerk bitch I was.

“I’m not a bitch!” I barked. Quickly, my anger and disbelief turned into confusion. I began asking lots of questions, like “What lady would do such a thing?” and “Why isn’t anyone telling me about this shit!?”

Wasting no more time, I once again donned my latex gloves and makeshift hazmat suit and began to scrub away. I was quickly realizing that wiping shit off linoleum was not my life’s calling, and I decided then that no head courtesy clerk position was worth cleaning any more shit. With each poop smear I wiped away, a bit of my courtesy clerk passion wiped away, as well. I left a part of myself on the floors of those bathroom stalls that July day at Top Foods, a part I knew I’d never get back.

Feeling dually defeated and victorious, I threw my gloves into the trash before letting my manager know I had to clean another shit from the bathrooms. After a hearty guffaw, my lovely manager strolls down from her upstairs office and hands me another envelope containing a gift card. This time, the gift was worth… buckle your belts again… another $5, to the store. One would expect the value of the card to increase, if not doubly then exponentially. But it didn’t.

I decided to spend my $10 on a late lunch that actually came out to $10.87, so I had to shell money out at the end of the day. Lots of coworkers were dicks about the whole thing, making poop jokes in my ear, which are never ever appropriate in any venue. A veteran cashier joked, “Wow. Twice in one day? That’s a double whammy!” And so it was christened: Michael Wong experienced the first double whammy in the elusive and interesting history of Top Foods. That’s one for the resumé.

Before I left for the day, I took a really nice poop in the employee restroom. I took special care not to miss. I thought long and hard about the days events and of my future at Top Foods. I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, drying with a paper towel that I ended up leaving on the counter (the thug life had chosen me that day).

I walked out of Top Foods that day with a clear mind, an empty bowel, and a decision made: I would quit this shitty job before the month’s end, to pursue less… shitty… opportunities.

MW.