It was 10 P.M., the tourists were starting to leave the restaurant I worked at and retire to their Waikiki hotel rooms. A large, egg-shaped man waddled his way up the stairs to the host stand, where he found my boss and I chatting it up. The sweaty haole gained his breath and asked where the bathroom was. As he waddled in the direction I pointed out for him, the two of us giggled like schoolgirls at a fat man who needed to use the toilet.
I had gone on to talk aimlessly about comedy television and Apple products with my boss for another five minutes until he was called away from the front of house. A few minutes later, the greasy egg removed itself from the bathroom to find his wife, who was casually chatting with a hostess.
The fat man panicked to his wife, “Honey, we’ve got to get out of here, NOW.”
And so, while catching sound (and fortunately not wind) of this conversation, I ran to the restroom as they hurried out of the establishment and back into their dream Hawaiian vacation.
I opened the door to the men’s room. No nose under your shirt could prepare you for the horror. My nostrils were burning from the stench of a hundred landfills. I made my way inside. The humidity and pressure of the environment was altered from whatever the hell was in that stall. I took my chances. I kicked the door of the bathroom stall wide open.
What I found…
Good lord..! Sweet mercy..!
The bubbly digested ooze in its umber-colored glory splattered against the stainless steel partitions. You can’t unsee what your eyes have shown you (or in this case, you can’t unsee what somebody’s intestines exploded out of their anus). It was like willingly doing a Google Image Search for “vulvar elephantitis.” For months after, I was not able to look at chili properly. Sometimes, I suffer from Post Traumatic Shit Disorder.
You weren’t there man, you don’t know.
I ran to my boss and informed him of the situation. We returned to ground zero and assessed the problem. He called in two bussers to bring in a mop. Within three minutes, the restroom had four grown men staring at a toilet stall, each commenting on some aspect of the nastiness in a juvenile manner.
Based on our forensic analysis, the fat man clearly wasn’t able to make initial direct ass-to-toilet contact, as evident by the shit everywhere. The man must have shat his pants before even getting to the toilet, because deep inside the murky swamp-water of the toilet bowl drowned the fat man’s briefs.
Here’s the thing about vacations - usually you take a souvenir home instead of leaving one behind.
The boss directed the bussers to clean up the mess. Of course, here were the alpha-male bussers - ones who made round-the-clock snarky comments and used table rags to smack the asses of their co-workers - but neither could man up to a pile of shit. And so, tired of their bickering over who’s going to do it, I grabbed the mop and went at it, cleaning the shit off of a toilet that wasn’t mine. I sucked up my gag reflex and held my breath to defend myself from the odor. It smelled, oh sweet cheese-covered-bacon it smelled. It smelled like a Ben Stiller movie. But like A Night at the Museum 2, I managed through and mopped that shit up.
I allowed myself the right to go home after that.
Now, it should be noted that I also went to work every day HIGH AS A KITE. And as it turned out, nobody ever caught on to my state of mind until much later in my career there. Seriously, if you had a job where all you did was control the music in a restaurant, what the hell else are you going to do?
My paranoia from excessive weed smoking had me worried about my job though. About a month after the shit fiasco, I came in to work as usual, stoned and looking for Mountain Dew. Everyone is looking at me, though. Nobody looks at me like this. I’m thinking, “Great, I’m getting fired today. They all know I’m stoned.”
One of the servers came over to me.
He asked, “Did you find out yet?”
"Find out what?"
He laughed, “Oh, I’ll let THEM tell you.”
I was certain I had lost my job. This made me feel awful, all the way into the pre-shift, where it was announced I made employee of the month. The world was still my sandbox.