The Case of the Disappearing Turd
Okay, just gonna come out and say I wasn't at the crime scene when it happened. My dance teacher relayed the story to me earlier this evening, along with five other of her most trusted confidantes (our pointe class). We were sworn to secrecy, but since I figure most of you have no idea who I am, then I'm good posting it here. I'm going to write this the way she told it to me - as accurately as I can.
(some background: our "dance studio" is actually one room with bars, mirrors, and a hardwood floor in the upper level of a church building where they hold kiddy classes. doors open to a waiting area with plastic tables & it's pretty laid back. hopefully not too much identifying info lol).
So last Thursday, I was teaching evening classes as usual. Six o'clock was my intermediate ballet class, so I went to take a quick leak before sequestering myself in a sweaty room for over an hour. Dodging little girls, trapped siblings, and parents trying to initiate conversation; what was meant to be just a quick trip down the hall and to the right would forever change my perception of this seemingly safe, serene, blessed building.
The moment I open the door to the girls' bathroom, a horrible stench hits my nose like the bowels (ha) of death. My eyes begin to water. My lungs cease function, and it takes me a couple of seconds to remember that oxygen is a thing. I do one of those raspy, rattling gutpunched gasps as my eyes scan for the source of the awful smell. Nothing. Nobody's in here. Just me, the mirror, and the pink-purple butterflies painted innocently onto the bathroom walls.
I decide to check the stalls. There's an average-sized one, and a big one, like in most normal restrooms. I open the door to the average one; empty. I open the door to the big one, and... oh, my sweet holy trinity.
There's a bloody freaking poop log sitting on the floor. Just... sitting there. Inches away from the stall door. Like, whoever left it there didn't just miss the toilet - the fecal matter wasn't even remotely close to its designated disposal unit. It was as if someone had consciously spread their legs, squatted down, and squeezed out the Immaculate Conception three feet away from the toilet bowl. And it was seriously immaculate. Perfectly intact. The kind of turd you'd take pictures of and send to your friends if it had been your own, safely cocooned within its porcelain constraints.
But, it wasn't. So I hustled outta there and broke the news to a MIT (Mother I Trust). I didn't have time to clean it or anything, so I whispered the story in her ear and stationed her in front of the bathroom door to make sure no one went in there. I told all the kids to stay out, and told all the adults to make sure they listened. Arriving parents/children would be informed of the bathroom situation by their diligent counterparts. I sorted out a hierarchy of information, then quickly retreated back to recollect myself in time to teach.
And thus, my decree trickled down the line, down to the very youngest of the toddlers waiting for her big sister to get out of ballet class. Before long, everyone knew that the girls' bathroom was off limits. There was no way of not knowing it - I did everything I could to prevent another poor soul from suffering my fate.
Class comes and goes. I have another one right after, so I don't get a chance to obviate the defecate in between. It's eight o'clock before I'm finally able to go back there again, and when I do, I take one of my older students with me. I'm heatedly explaining the situation to her, as I want a future witness to the absurdity. She, of course, thinks I'm nuts. Her eyebrows are climbing up her forehead, but I promise her she'll see what I'm talking about in just a second.
When we get there, the MIT's still stationed at her post. "No one's gone in?" I ask.
"Nobody," she replies confidently.
I thank her, and we prep ourselves for the final confrontation. I gulp down some air, plug my nose, and barge in.
Except, when we look in the stall, it's totally gone.
I mean, not a speck in sight. The room no longer reeks of poop. The floor is squeaky clean, and where the log should've been is now nice, sparkling white tile. No evidence anywhere. My student is looking at me like I'm a basket case, but I swear to her that two hours ago, there was literally a pile of adult human waste on the ground right where we're standing.
Obviously, the dump was not just scooped off the floor in haste. It was methodically picked up, carried somewhere, and the aftermath dealt with accordingly. I'm left looking like a crazy idiot, and everyone else is dumbfounded and shocked. The poop is gone, but I know it wasn't a hallucination.
So, yeah. We suggested a couple of different explanations for the disappearing turd, a few of which were Jesus' housekeeping, a ghost, or a homeless person. The latter seems the most pliable, but after checking in the bathroom cabinets tonight for any signs of living, we came up with nothing. There's a lot of closets around, though, so it's not unlikely we have a stealthy squatter in our midst.
For the most part, though, it seems like the mystery of the Poopacabra is never going to be resolved. We'll never know how someone could miss the seat by that much.
Originally uploaded on February 25, 2015
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