Hey look, Laura’s blogging! That must mean a person did a thing at work!
So around ten tonight (tonight being a relative term) a coworker of mine got off work. As is often the habit of people here, he decided to get food and eat it here before leaving. A few minutes after the end of his shift, he walked back in from outside and gathered an audience to tell a story.
He’d gone outside to get his wallet from his car, and had seen an older woman full-out running towards the door. Not thinking too much of it, he came in the front door to see the door to the women’s bathroom (directly adjacent to the front door) closing with a small child already hauling their britches down, door still open.
Innocent giggles were had at the idea of bared cheeks, and we went on about our work. About 20 minutes later, the manager running the floor turned up and picked me to clean bathrooms.
While gathering the supplies, the person who’d just relieved me from the front cash register approached.
“Hey,” he said. “Why is my cleaning bucket on the counter?”
“I think you’ll find that’s my bucket,” I replied.
“I’m sorry, but it’s mine. Right now this whole area is mine. See those cups? Mine. See this drawer? Are your initials on it? No? Mine.”
The whole exchange was light-hearted enough, but not really liking someone can do wonders to kill a mood.
I retreated, letting him win.
The men’s bathroom was cleaned with no remarkable happenings, and then I went to the women’s.
Up till then, I’d completely forgotten the recently-told story.
I walked into the bathroom to be hit with a wall of stench with which I am all too familiar.
Fecal matter was spattered on the floor. It was on the front of the bowl. It had sprayed across the back and over the seat. I stood and stared at it briefly, sprayed it down with my cleaning solution, and beat a strategic retreat.
Walking back into the kitchen, all I was hoping for was that Jeremy, the storytelling-coworker, was still here.
I found him in the break room.
“So, Jeremy,” I said, setting my cleaning supplies on the table. “You know that story you were telling about that kid?”
“And how they were rushing to get their pants down?”
“I was just in the women’s.”
*choking noise* “Oh no.” *starts laughing*
“Do you want to guess what color it was?”
At this point, he had stopped eating and was nearly out of his chair laughing.
Another coworker walked up at this point and asked about the laughter, so I retold the story. I got to the point where I posed the question: “Guess what I found in there?” and someone passing the break table eagerly shouted the fitting expletive.
“Actually,” I said. “Yes. Also on the floor.”
When I walked back up towards the front register and the door leading to the toxic bathroom, I found the coworker I didn’t particularly like doing not very much.
“You know how we were talking about how front cash is your responsibility?” I said, in my most charismatic voice.
“Yeah,” he said, giving me a suspicious look.
“Well, you know bathrooms is part of that, right?” I proffered the cleaning spray and paper towels. “I’ll watch your drawer.”
With a sigh, he took the supplies, smirked at me, and turned and set them down behind him.
“I’ll get to them,” he said.
“Like, soon?” I asked. Pranks aside, the bathroom really did need to be cleaned before someone went in there and came to complain.
“Yeah, I gotcha.”
“…so, before another person goes to the bathrooms, right?”
I was determined not to surrender this one, so I leaned on the counter, folded my arms, and stared him down.
“…you’re just gonna wait there until I go, aren’t you?”
*sigh* “Alright. Fine.”
He grabbed the supplies and left. Immediately, I turned and hurried back to the break room.
Jeremy doesn’t trust me when he sees me smile like that, and immediately frowned at me when I returned to the break room.
“I made Hank do it,” was all I said, and Jeremy choked on his food again.
“Does he know what happened in there?” was his first question.
“He was standing right here listening to the story,” I replied.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone heading back towards the break room. Turning, I saw Hank, a full forty seconds after heading to the bathroom. He set the cleaning supplies on the table, exhaled loudly, and frowned at me.
“No,” he said. “That’s disgusting.”
I’m not going to pretend I’m not peeved by the woman letting her kid bomb our bathroom so completely and then leave without cleaning it up OR ordering a single item, let alone telling us about it. I obviously didn’t enjoy having to clean up the poop.
But, all in all, there are few pranks that have happened so beautifully and paid off so well.