Last Saturday I strolled into work pumped up for anything that might go down. I was prepared for demanding guests, bitchy guests, and ungrateful guests. I was also prepared for lots of small children, which are also on my list of unfavorite items. My night started out fine: I surfed the Internet, did some laundry, and kept up with my job duties. I was not, however, prepared for what was about to happen later that night.

Around six o'clock, people started to check in. The wedding group people were less than savory. I don't remember the last time I had seen such a perfect example of pure white trash. The twenty-one-year-old girls already had three or four kids, and all the men were sweaty and dressed in flannel shirts with the sleeves cut off. As I got all of these characters checked in, I noticed they started gathering in the lobby area. I didn't have a huge problem with this because it meant the other guests wouldn't complain about the noise level down the hallways. As the lobby group got larger, I noticed that the number of small children was growing to enormous amounts. There must have been fifteen or twenty kids between the ages of four and ten. I made a vow to myself to keep my cool and just let the group enjoy their redneck gathering.

Eventually this group of bumpkins made their way into the pool area. I was grateful for this. They all could have used a chlorinated dip anyway.

Around 7:30, a little girl of about five came running up the front desk, yelling, "Devin pooped in the pool! Devin pooped in the pool!"

Those are dreaded words to a hotel front desk clerk. A poop in the pool means evacuating the entire pool for the rest of the night, until the maintenance guy can come in and shock it or do whatever it is he does. This also meant the rednecks would be back in the lobby drinking Jack Daniels out of styrofoam cups.

I made my way into the pool area to find a dark brown section of liquid shit in the middle of the pool. The water made it spread out so it looked like a massive amount of poo. I looked at the other children in the pool with disgust and yelled, "GET OUT OF THE POOL!" Apparently their parents weren't smart enough to tell them that themselves.

I turned around and saw what must have been the pooping Devin. He was a little boy of about three years old with a brown spot on the back of his swim trunks. He was laughing at his creation. I gave him a look that could have made the sasquatch cry. I then looked at his mother, who was smiling at the situation. She looked me straight in the face with a huge smile and said, "Just wait till you have kids! Stuff like this is nothing!"

I looked back at the lady and said, "My dog has better manners than that kid."

The woman took her pooping three-year-old out of the pool area in a huff and I was left with the other hillbillies. I announced that the pool was going to be closed for the rest of the weekend and told everyone to evacuate the area. This did not sit well with anyone. The redneck dads tried to tell me that the chlorine would disinfect the pool and it would be fine in twenty minutes. The redneck moms wanted to stay and use the hot tub. The redneck twenty-one-year-olds wanted to stay in the pool area and drink. I had HAD IT. I told everyone that if they weren't out of the pool area in three minutes I would call the police. This seemed to get them moving, as I'm sure most of them had warrants out on them for DUIs or cruelty to farm sheep.

I called Luther, a sweet old man from town that does odd jobs around the hotel and acts as our maintenance guy. I told him the situation, feeling terrible for calling him in on a Saturday night because of turd terrorism. He said he would be there in a while, and told me to lock the pool door for now.

As I was going for the key to the pool door, I noticed the rednecks were back in the lobby. However, I didn't see any children. I was grateful for this and prayed they had been sent to bed.

As I got back behind the front desk, the phone rang. It was an inside call. I answered, "Front desk," and heard a small child's voice on the other end. She couldn't pronounce her "r" sounds. "Ummm," she said, "we, umm, need some paper towels. My bwother did something bad."

I asked what room she was in and she hung up. I looked at the computer phone log and saw it was room 104, right around the corner. I couldn't even imagine what the problem was -- and frankly, I didn't want to know. I went out into the lobby where the parents were drinking and asked, "Is anyone here in room 104?"

No one responded. They all gave a blank look. I took that as a no and walked down the hall to104. I didn't know if the kids were in there alone or if a parent was sleeping or what the deal was, but I had to find out.

I knocked on the door and heard children scurrying around as if they were trying to hide something. I had a feeling in my gut that something was wrong. I put my master key in the door and walked in.

The stench that hit me was horrific. It smelled like one of those silent-but-deadly rotten egg farts. It was pungent, and it made my eyes water.

I assessed the situation: no parents and no adults. Just a four-year-old boy and a six-year-old girl. As I continued to look around the room, I noticed something on the wall by the window. As I walked closer, the two kids bolted from the room, slamming the door behind them. More poop. More fucking poop. There were chunks of creamy poo on the wall, the curtain, and the air conditioner. On the floor were a pair of little boy undies with a mound of frosting-like poo in them. (It was such an odd texture!) I looked at the bed and saw a brown handprint on the mattress, of all places. The fucking kid had pulled back the sheets and wiped it on the mattress.

I stormed out of the room and found the two kids out in the lobby, clutching a large lumberjack-type woman. I had already asked this woman if she was in room 104, but she hadn't responded. I chalked it up to the fact that she didn't know how to count. As I looked around at the group of subhumans sitting in my lobby, I blew up. I went on a rant about turd terrorism and used the example of my dog being better trained than their filthy little mongrel children. I couldn't even believe the things coming out of my mouth. I was downright insulting and probably scarred the kids for life.

At that moment, Luther the maintenance guy walked in. He heard part of my rant and started laughing HYSTERICALLY at the term "turd terrorism." I almost started to laugh, too, but I was on a roll. I told the woman in 104 that she was going to take that mattress out to the dumpster tonight and pay for a new one -- and told her she was going to scrub the poop off the walls with bleach. Of course, she didn't agree with this idea, and stood up to me. She had at least a foot-and-a-half and a hundred and fifty pounds on me. I simply walked away and proceeded to call the police.

To sum up the rest of the night: the police came in and I had the entire redneck group escorted out of the hotel. They were all being rowdy, obnoxious, and drunk in addition to letting their children poop all over the hotel, so I had plenty of excuses. Some of the men wouldn't leave without a fight and some had to be handcuffed and wrestled to the ground. The children were crying and the lumberjack woman was yelling obscenities at me and the police. She, too, had to be handcuffed and hauled away.

I ended up having to formally report the incident and file a complaint, explaining the turd terrorism to the police and telling them that the pooping was really what started the whole incident. Luther the maintenance guy continued to giggle for the rest of the night whenever "turd terrorism" was brought up.

Perhaps we can all learn something from this incident. Turd terrorism can turn into something nasty. Law enforcement could get involved, and it could get violent. Mothers and fathers: make sure your child knows the dangers of turd terrorism. And just to be safe, train them as you would a German Shepherd, to ensure they know when and where to poop.