Back when I was about twenty-four I worked in a local after-hours nightclub in my city of Edmonton, Alberta Canada. The club had three floors with dance rooms, and there was a Men’s and Ladies’ bathroom on each of the lower floors. By a few hours into the night, these bathrooms were in disgusting condition and stayed that way until closing. For some reason the Ladies’ Room was always worse; they couldn’t seem to flush, and there was a yellow and brown toilet paper and tampon mountain that rose from the bowl, inhibiting proper flushing. The mess would just spill out onto the floor. The women seemed to hover higher and higher as the mountain grew underneath them.
In the Men’s Rooms it was not uncommon to find huge logs of shit or used condoms sitting in the bottom of the urinals and drugged out guys pissing in the trashcans.
We also had a solitary crapper in the back office for staff use only; it was up kept by the staff and was always in usable standards. But these normal every weekend occurrences are not what my tale is about. The nightclub had big parties every month or so where an international DJ was hired to play for the customers to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars. They were great parties that packed the house to maximum capacity. Only very rarely were they bad occasions…
This is one such occasion.
I probably should not mention the music superstar by name, but I will tell you he has been famous since the 1980’s for being the original cross-dressing, intravenous drug-abusing, latex clothing-wearing, tabloid-influencing weirdo from Great Britain in general. He was hired by a couple of clubs in town to play at various times during the evening and night on the record decks, and our club happened to be the last stop for his tour that day. His bus showed up with his posse of man-women and woman-men, fully decked out in their rubber attire and makeup and demanded we close off the top floor; he and his entourage wanted a place to kick back away from the general public and have a heroin-infused sex orgy before the show began. This was fine. His wish was granted.
He also wanted use of our staff bathroom, which was also not a problem, as none of the staff would take a shit in the nightclub toilets either. So the night began.
He was nowhere to be seen until his show started at three a.m., at which point he came down from the upstairs lounge - obviously junked beyond imagination on heroin - and began his show. Five minutes into the set he couldn’t play anymore. Instead, he retired back to the lounge with his posse of freaks and left the customers disappointed, the club out of a headliner, and the people who paid the expensive bill in absolute shock, hoping he would come down out of the clouds and finish the set they paid so much for. After he left the stage, he decided he needed to use the staff bathroom and went down to the back office area and locked himself in. An amount of time passed, and the superstar emerged and headed straight to his waiting bus, with the weirdo posse not far behind, and disappeared. The investor’s money was wasted, the local DJs picked up his slack, and the night went on.
I’m not sure who discovered it first, but that’s not important… What is important to tell is the condition of the staff bathroom after the freak show left the premises…
Upon opening the door, the smell hit worse than anything I have ever had the displeasure of smelling. It appeared that the culprit let loose with his asshole still two feet away from the rim of the bowl, on a horizontal trajectory, and only aiming in its general direction. There was a mixture of brown heroin shit, urine, blood and vomit sprayed all over the seat, the toilet tank, and the walls surrounding it. There was shit juice dripping off everything four feet high and below gathering in puddles on the floor. There was no toilet paper anywhere to be seen, so we don’t think he even wiped his ass before leaving.
It seemed that the only places that weren’t covered with sub-human waste were the ceiling and the opposite wall with the mirror, a mirror that he may have used to admire his handiwork in action. We never could figure out how he accomplished this and just what bodily fluids were involved, let alone in what order he deposited them. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall.
We had to clean up with a pressure washer and a great amount of bleach, and I never set foot in that bathroom again during the time I worked there, let alone shit in it. Thankfully, I didn’t have to do the clean up; I was just a witness to the mess. I remember this story as if it was yesterday every time I get the squirts.
