This afternoon, I picked up Robert and we went to Goodwill. Once I started working from home a few years ago, I got rid of most of my teacher clothes. But now that I’m going into an office again, I need to get something other than sweatpants.
Of course the SECOND we got into the store, Robert told me he needed to go potty.
I normally don’t care about public bathrooms, but I can usually avoid going in places like GOODWILL.
The place was trashed. There was wet paper on the floor and the seat was sprayed with at least a dozen varieties of piss.
I wiped it the best I could with toilet paper, getting lots of stranger DNA on my hands, and I pulled Robert’s pants down to lift him onto the bowl.
A marble-sized turd rolled out of his underwear.
“Did you poop your pants?”
“Um, just a little,” he said in a dismissive tone. That’s been his thing lately. My pants are wet, but only a little bit. It’s okay, it’s okay.
Another wad of wafer-thin toilet paper, I scooped the dried specimen out of his underwear and tried to scrub the stains in the sink. It was DEFINITELY not fresh.
“When did you do this?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
Ugh. “Get on the toilet. Do you need to poop more?”
“Um, not yet.”
Not yet? The fuck you waiting for bud?
He finished and I washed my hands as best I could with the pea-sized portion of soap I got out of the dispenser, and we went back out to the sales floor.
No more than 10 minutes later, Robert tugged on my sleeve. “I have to go potty.”
“AGAIN? C’mon man.”
Back to the fragrant bathroom. I didn’t have to contend with the soiled underwear this tiem, because I’d folded it up and put it in the poicket of my sweater. Gross.
This time, he unloaded the rest of what he’d been storing in his large intestine.
I must’ve asked him five times if he was done, and each time he said, “not yet.”
Finally I just had to call it. “Ok, you’re done now. Get off.”
And THAT was my trip to Goodwill.
I Don't Belong Here. 