#2

Tuesday, June 09, 2009
The tale of the mistaken Reece's cup
I have now discovered what not to do about a lot of things. It’s been an adventure, to be sure. But yesterday, I learned another of life’s valuable little lessons. And I don’t think I’ll be able to eat Reece’s cups for a long, long time. If ever.
I was working yesterday morning, and we were fairly steady, what with customers, deliveries, and the day to day stuff that goes with employment at Dollar Glorious. I would dash into the office for a quick guzzle of my drink, and a longing look at my 4 pack of Reece’s cups, which I had no time to actually stop and eat. I thought about those stupid Reece’s cups all day. Everyone knows its my favorite snack at work. I had a conference call coming up at two that afternoon, and so I was trying to get everything done beforehand. I should have known it was going to be one of those days, because I had to lock up the men’s room. It would seem some people just do not take a shit at home, they save it up for a week or two, then unload it in my store. The toilet was blocked totally, and it was NOT with toilet paper. But I didn’t realize that part. I finally snarfed down my 4 Reece’s cups, and went out to pick up the parking lot before the conference call. It had been looking a little like Beruit out there. I was going to deal with the men’s room after the conference call was over. Or so I thought. The landscapers, bless their busy little hearts, had cleaned the parking lot while I was inside the store. Which left me at loose ends for about 20 minutes until the call. So, what the hell, I’ll go deal with the men’s room now and get it over with.

DO NOT EAT REECE’S CUPS AND THEN PLUNGE A TOILET. Here I was thinking it was just toilet paper that was the problem in there. I opened the door and the stench hit me. It was so bad it made my ears water. The visual was even worse. The bowl was completely filled and there was very little toilet paper in sight. Oh. Dear. God. They don’t fucking pay me enough for this. I rapidly flipped through my mental file of customers to see which one, exactly, I was going to fucking dismember for this little stunt. That was not so little. And then, being the good little company bitch that I am, I took plunger in hand, held my breath and commenced Operation Smash Shit. It takes a lot to gross me out, but that sure as hell did it. I was gagging, and heaving, eyes streaming, nose running, valiantly fighting to keep the Reece’s cups where I put them, down in my stomach. Because I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that if I yakked up the Reece’s cups on top of what was already there, I would just have to lay down and die. 15 minutes and a half a gallon of bleach later, the men’s room was cleared of both stench and obstruction. It took me about an hour after that to stop trying to puke every time I breathed. I’ll never look at Reece’s cups the same way again. Or one of the vendors, because I am pretty sure he was the one that laid the shit bomb to start with.
I need a new work snack. Any suggestions? And don’t say Twizzlers. Red licorice brings up a whole new set of bad memories in the women’s room…