It sure doesn't smell like roses...

Day 68 of deployment


Have you ever found yourself in this situation? You're going about your day, faking smiles, masking your general disdain for people, when you're suddenly struck with the overwhelming urge to shit all over a public restroom?
Not that this is probably a common occurrence with most people.
I, however, am not most people.


Allow me to elaborate.


After dragging myself out of bed this morning, I scurried into work for my normal 2-10p shift, leaving a trail of hair in my wake. Staying true to my usual tardiness, I clocked in five minutes late and surveyed the damage left by first shift. I was met by a wave of snide comments and complaints from my coworker, Kristen. Poor Kristen. I rarely work with her much anymore, maybe twice a month due to our opposite schedules. A shy, 23 year old, engaged mom of one, she rarely has time to do anything but work and desperately hold on to what little sanity she has left. We had a stint of full time work together last year. I jumped off that crazy train once class started up and never went back. I am slightly surprised that she hasn't snapped from the overdemanding hours she works as a result of short staffing. Today, Kristen was dangerously teetering on the brink of either a complete nervous break down or a homicidal spree. It's nice to know that I'm not the only one.


A phone call from a resident only further upped the ante on our impending mental meltdowns. Our manager hands us the phone, and busily returns to her comfy desk chair to continue her extremely important job of staring into nothingness. 


"This is Alma in room 26. I'm on the john and just cant seem to get up."


Wonderful.


Alma, before she entered the home and made it her dying goal to make our lives a living hell, was once a professor at a college. She tries to play the whole "memory" card, but weeeee know better than that. She finds utter joy in asking us to do daunting daily tasks, such as lifting her ass off the toilet when she is terribly capable of doing it herself. Best of all, her tone of voice and way of speaking is just like the teacher off of Southpark, mmmmmmk?


We enter Alma's room and are quickly assaulted with the pungent scent of Alma droppings.


"It doesn't smell like roses in here," she giggles, obviously entertained by our grimaces. Kristen and I struggle to lift her 200 some pound frame of the toilet, finally succeeding after several minutes. We are rewarded for our efforts as soon as Alma is on her feet, when we realize that not only did she manage to get "stuck," she also managed to shit...all down the front of her toilet riser. She turns and beams at her work. "Oh my, aren't I Miss PoopPants!" she exclaims, smiling coyly at us, "How ever shall I clean this up?" We smile back at her, pleasant as always, and say we'll be back with wipes to clean it up.


Which leads me to my opening statement. Although I stand there, smiling at her, using my sweet "I care!" voice, the thought crosses my mind: I would love to take a giant dump, and smear it alll over a public restroom. Here at work. And just leave it. Leave it for the big shots to clean up. Dont get me wrong, I do enjoy the residents most of the time...but I swear, sometimes...no money in the world can pay for this nonsense....


I begin to think that my hipster hair bathmat idea wasn't such a terrible idea after all. 


And with that, I shall end my night. After my nightly cry in the shower, I plan to crawl into my nest of hair (once known as my bed) and dream of the day my beloved fiance returns to me. Most likely while stuffing my face with Gardettos and rolling in the crumbs. Here's to another day survived!