I knew something was wrong before I even walked into the room. The smell gave it away. The stench of human excrement isn't totally unexpected in a public toilet but it is certainly surprising to smell it in the shopping centre corridor outside.
Inside, someone had managed to poo all over the floor of one of the cubicles. A length of toilet paper led the eye nicely from the cubicle to another brown patch just outside the door. Now, I'm not saying I'm the most observant person in the world but the smell and the toilet paper were good enough clues for me to think that I should probably watch where I put my feet. Maybe Gen Y nostrils aren't as sensitive as mine because the smart looking young salesman that followed me into the toilets was oblivious to the danger and marched straight through the mess, adding a hint of brown to his previously all-black outfit. The Man in Black was now the Man in Brown. Literally.
I went in search of the cleaner but he was nowhere to be found. Maybe he'd already seen the poo pile and had decided to quit rather than have to clean it up. My good citizen gene kicked in and I went off to find the phone number for centre management. That's when I found the source of the earlier noxious niff in the corridor, yet another brown land mine waiting for an unsuspecting foot. What the hell had this guy been eating?
I figured standing in the way of passing pedestrians was the easiest way to keep them out of the poo. It was certainly easier than giving a mind-the-crap-on-the-floor speech to everyone walking by, especially if there was a chance that they thought I was the culprit.
A cleaner eventually turned up and the air went from brown to blue when he found the enormity of the task our anonymous exploding male had left him. I'm also disappointed to report that the centre management's phone menu doesn't have an option of "in case of poo-related emergency, push number two".
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