Piss: the Final Frontier

In the past two weeks, there have been four separate incidents of piss.

Should I consider this an upgrade?

Before, I had to deal with a chair shitter that robbed 17 year olds of money that they earned from their part-time mall job money.

The first piss incident was on my first day at my new branch. I walked in, noticed a wet floor sign, asked what was wrong, and had an employee casually tell me: "OH, a little girl peed there on Saturday."

Great. So, piss was baking into the floor all weekend. Mmmmm, mmmm, remind me to buy stock in Febreeze now.

The second incident was a day later when Mom of the Year was too busy on MySpace (really, people still use MySpace? Face Book is on the downward spiral and you're still on MySpace? Why don't you go buy some acid washed jeans, get some aqua colored plastic frames and watch the Karate Kid. Oh, wait...) to notice that little toddler (gender undetermined) needed to take a piss. So, the kid pissed on the nice, fabric-covered, padded chair. Absorbent.

The third incident is foggy, but involved piss and possibly some shit, because, whooooohoooooo, what's a story without feces!?!? Mom was young and busy with four other kids and failed to really pay attention to the ticking time bomb that was in the little boy's diaper. Apparently, it had been some time since the diaper had been changed, since, when they came into the library, the smell was pretty ripe. I scrunched my nose in yuckiness and sprayed air freshener.

About two hours later, I noticed the group still in the library. They looked like they were about to leave. Of course, how could they leave without a gift for their favorite librarian? There was a little droplet or 20 in the (thankfully plastic) chair and something brown.

The finale is that today, when a kid was just acting up and being bad and stupid and irritating and GOD SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE LIBRARY YOU LITTLE CROTCH DROPPING, he got mad because we told him his behavior was unacceptable and he had to leave. We did not call him a crotch dropping. Administration frowns upon that. The kid was so mad that he had to leave that he decided to piss all over the sidewalk and windows.

I hope you got some relief from taking that piss, kid, because it's going to be a long, hot, summer out there without air and computers. Your ass isn't coming back in until fall. Why? Because I hate you and I can do that to you. Do it again and it's going to be a really long fall without any computers. Your entertainment is going to be counting your piss droplets in the community pool. Good luck with that, you little asshole.

It's 7 p.m., do you know where your child is?

Guy that calls: Where is my son?
Clerk: Pardon?
GTC: My son, is he there? I'm looking for him?
Clerk: I'm not sure who your son is, but let me send you to the person in charge.
GTC: I don't want to talk to the person in charge. Where is the fucking manager?
Clerk: She left for the day [god fucking forbid that I didn't work a 12 hour day]
GTC: She knows who my kid is.
Clerk: I can send you to ******
GTC: Look, I just want to know if my kid is there.
Clerk: I can't really tell you that.
GTC: I hope that you can't find your kids someday [really? You call every damned day looking for your kid and now that's is 7 p.m. and getting dark, you finally realize he isn't home? Way to go, dad of the year]. I hope that Child Protective Services takes them away.
Clerk: Well, sir, I'm sorry that you can't find your son, you can speak to the branch manager about library policies in the morning when she's in.
GTC: Maybe I'll just call and report everyone in that branch for not looking out for my kid. Then all of you will get fired! [Really? You've already threatened to come punch someone in the face because we couldn't find your kid, who is the loose cannon here? Father of the year. Someone call Parenting magazine.]