won't be the same

An earlier version of today’s post sounded a little too assholey so I’ve decided to change gears and go with an earlier idea.
A few days ago I was walking to the bus and saw something that was pretty disgusting. On the sidewalk in front of me were the contents of someone’s stomach. Seeing puke is never a pleasant sight first thing in the morning but that wasn’t the grossest part. The honour went to the pigeon that was busy eating up the pasty little bits speckling the sidewalk. Blah, the thought of it makes my stomach a little queasy. So why, you may wonder, am I telling you this? While I continued walking I started thinking – that’s pretty gross but I’ve seen grosser.

Cue flashback music.

The summer of 1999 was a tough one. For reasons that no longer hold-up I had chosen to go home rather than return to Camp Chief Hector. Compounded with my missing camp was the fact that none of my friends from high school were around, there was also plenty of family drama, and people a lot younger than me kept telling me about partying with my mom (this is also an unpleasant thought but not the focus of this post). However, more than anything else it was my second job that ended up indelibly etched in my memory. That summer I was one of the few, the proud, and the thoroughly disgusted, I was a campground cleaner.

I can clearly remember one of my co-workers silently crying after finishing her first day on the job. The tears were warranted, as no one really deserves to see what we saw on a daily basis. We had to clean both outhouses and bathrooms with plumbing, among other things. Unfortunately, running water didn’t really make much of a difference. People on a camping holiday seemed to forget the basics of acting like human beings. For example, it was common to have to scrub away finger paintings, usually done with whatever was on-hand (pun definitely intended). Sometimes the paintings were quite intricate. Tour groups would usually abuse the outhouses they happened to stop at. It was common to encounter a ‘Mt. Shitmore’ (as my co-workers called it). This was formed in one of two ways 1) people would start going on the floor and build up from there 2) it was a naturally occurring phenomena that happened when the output exceeded the containment space.
I feel as though I’m crossing the line of poor taste so maybe I’ll stop with the descriptions. How about a reader poll – does anyone have a gross memory they’d like to share?