The position I hold is Assistant Facilities Manager. Every day the job is different -- one day I may be in front of my computer all day doing Excel spreadsheets, the next I could be hanging drywall. We have a janitorial service that comes in at night to clean, but since we own the building, we handle all repairs -- as well as "restroom emergencies."

Yesterday, late in the day, I entered the first floor men's room and noticed that one of the stall doors was locked closed with nobody in it. I didn't give it much thought; I took a piss at the urinal and left. This morning I went into the same bathroom and noticed the stall door was still closed and locked. I peeked through the crack and saw a nasty sight: the pot was full of paper, shit, and piss. Strangely enough, it looked like the shit was on top of the paper, leaving me to believe this was a sick prank to keep the room a-smellin'.

I took a piss at the urinal and left. I figured I would wait until the end of the day, unlock the stall, and let the janitor deal with it.

This was not to be.

About an hour later I was in the kitchen heating up my morning oatmeal when my boss entered the room. He asked me if I saw the locked stall and the mess inside. I lied and said no. He told me to "Take care of it."

I choked down my oatmeal, dreading my future task. My own poop I can handle looking at and smelling. My kid's crap also is something I can deal with. And even dog and cat shit doesn't bother me much. But having to deal with some dude's monster fucking excrement is near devastating to me.

I finally got up the nerve and decided it was time to deal with this situation. With screwdriver in hand to pop the lock, I entered the chamber of hell. The stall was very tight and small, with mere inches of space on each side of the bowl. I flushed the chunky stew and naturally the water began to rise. No way was I willing to do any mopping, so I had to shut off the water fast.

Our toilets have no lids -- and again, this stall was very tight -- so when reaching down to shut off the water, my face was over the bowl, just about eight to ten inches from this dude's toxic intestinal sludge.

My oatmeal in my windpipe, I looked at myself in the mirror, fearing that a speck of fecal matter may have splashed onto my face. I looked a little green around the gills, but feces-free. I went to the janitorial closet to retrieve the plunger.

Now, I must say plunging this sloppy soup may have been the worse part of this project. The turds were being broken up, but three billiards ball-sized brown lumps survived. After vigorous plunging it was time to try a flush; but I needed water. So again my face was inches away from this rectal rubbish as I turned the water valve back on.

After three or four flushes, every last skidmark and every last one of the hunks from hell existed only in my sickened memory.

I wish I knew who did this. But the suspects are few. The dude I really suspect is the former Assistant Facilities Manager. I was hired for this job because he took a higher-paying position in the sales department, but he hates it, and he takes the frustrations of his mistake out by treating everybody -- and especially me -- like shit. He was in my position for fifteen years, and I think he is jealous that I have his job and do it better. Of course, maybe it was someone else.

Bottom line: I guess this is part of my payback for being too lazy to go out and get a college degree.