The Writing On The Wall
WARNING: ADULT CONTENT AHEAD
Once upon a time, in a life so vastly different from the one I’m currently living, I worked at *(Ass)mart. And not only did I work at *(Ass)mart, I worked the worst, lowest paid, least respected position in the store; I was a buggy pusher (a buggy is what we in Southwestern PA call shopping carts. I have no idea why).
The *(Ass)mart I worked at is one of the busiest in this part of the country. So, it wasn’t just going out, wrangling up a few shopping carts, then relaxing until it was time to get the next batch of carts. No, it was more like a non-stop ass hammering with a flaming Mjolnir.
But this piece isn’t going to be me bitching about how awful that particular job was (I do have an endless supply of things to bitch about, though). This is going to be a series of unrelated short stories about random things that have actually happened to me while I was working there.
So, to start things off, I would like to share with you one of my shittiest stories from working there—and I mean shitty in the literal sense. This is a story about poo (unfortunately, I have enough feces related tales from that job to last me a lifetime).
If this piece does well, I plan on making it a regular series: The *(ASS)mart Mythos, perhaps. Anyway, I hope you find some humor in my bizarre life. And just so you know, I deal with far less rectal explosions at my current day job.
*Retailer’s name changed to avoid the vengeful hand of big corporate.