A Very Crappy Story

Well, two responses do not a quorum make. That means I get to decide. I agree with Nancy, any story about poopie is a story worth telling.

From January 2003 through December 2004 we lived in Paducah, KY. The kids were 6 and 2 when we moved from Birmingham to Paducah. We really enjoyed living there. During our all too short stay in the Bluegrass State we developed and held to a few traditions. One of my favorites was our weekly trip to the Library.

The Paducah/McCracken County Public Library was an excellent library. The kids and I made it a tradition to go every Monday afternoon. We would spend an hour or so perusing the shelves of books, videotapes, and DVDs. The kids would pick out 2 or 3 things (always at least one book) then I would usually try to find something while trying to subdue the kids.

One of our weekly trips was particularly memorable. After that day I was afraid we might not be allowed to enter the building again.

During our time in Paducah, Abby was potty training. For some reason #2 in the potty is always a little more difficult than #1. After a few weeks of working with her (which included, but was not limited to, Misty and I asking, “Do you need to use the potty?” about every 2 minutes) Abby accomplished both.

On this particular Monday Abby wanted to wear big girl panties. I wavered a little. She had gone tinkle and poopie in the potty, but I wasn’t sure about a trip out of the house without the security of a diaper. She had gone a decent length of time without an accident, so, against Misty’s advice, I decided to let Abby wear her big girl panties to the library.

Before we left the house I took her to the bathroom and made sure she did her business. Tinkle? Check! Poop? Nothing. I asked, “Do you need to go poopoo?” She assured me she did not. I asked again, just to make sure. Still, the answer was no. So we set out for our weekly sojourn to the Public Library.

At this point you may know where this story is going, but, please, bear with me. I assure you, it’s worse than you think.

These library trips were always a bit tiring for me. Jacob and Abby were 4 years apart, opposite gender, and generally interested in different things. Jacob enjoyed the independence of going to look on his own. The Children’s section was secluded up stairs with one exit. I felt safe, but I still had to check on him occasionally. So I spent most of my time jumping back and forth between the Dora, Bear in the Big Blue House, and Blue’s Clues videos and the Young Adult section trying to watch both kids.

Upon our arrival, I asked Abby, again, if she needed to use the restroom. She said she did. In we went. Nothing. Out we came. We headed upstairs to the children’s section and I began my frantic back-and-forth aerobic child watch. All the while, I watched Abby for any sign of an impending accident.

 I left her (still within eyeshot) briefly to go check on Jacob. He was fine. When I came back to Abby, I knew immediately I was in trouble. She was standing with her knees slightly bent. Her arms were at a 90 degree angle to her body; hands clinched into fists. Her for head was beet red, eyebrows the pale color of intense concentration…or strain. A small grunt escaped from between her lips. I panicked.

Without delay I grabbed her and ran to the bathroom. I called to Jacob over my shoulder to let him know my destination. I told Abby, more than a little too loudly, “Just wait, we’re almost there.” The restroom door was only a few yards away, but it seemed to move away from me just a bit faster than my approach speed. As I ran, Abby continued to strain. Her grunts grew louder as we neared the restroom.

The bathroom on the second floor was adjacent to the swarming checkout desk. Needless to say, my running, screaming jaunt drew quite a bit of attention. As we burst through the door into the toilet my nose told me that we did not make it in time.

Luckily, Abby was wearing a dress so getting her de-pantsed and onto the toilet was not difficult. As I removed her underpants, I was greeted by a, well, there’s no less crude way to say it… a turd. I cleaned the garment out as best I could, but it was evident her favorite Barbie panties were ruined. She sat on the toilet for a while and tried valiantly to produce more excrement. As I waited, I realized how sorely unprepared I was for this calamity. I had a little girl, in a dress, with no underwear, and no back-up pair.

Finally, she finished. I cleaned her up and explained that the underwear were ruined and I had to throw them away. I asked her if she was sure she was done. “Yep.” We exited the restroom and found Jacob waiting outside the door. I had to explain to Jacob what happened, in detail because he would have it no other way. I was ready to go home. I told the kids it was time to go.

“NNNOOOOOO!!!!”

I think that’s the response I received. From both of them. Neither of them had found the books and/or videos they wanted for the week. I tried to politely explain to Jacob that Abby was currently going commando. I told them both that we had to go. They both protested all the stronger.

I thought for a minute and came to a decision. I told Jacob and Abby they had 3 minutes to find a book and a video, then we were leaving. I closed my eyes for a brief moment and sighed. Trying to purge my mind and body of the stress and anxiety of the past 25 minutes. Then I walked over to the young children’s books with Abby.

Finally the kids found items that agreed with them. I took them to the checkout counter and told the kids to stand by the wall. As I took our receipt from the librarian I was suddenly frozen in place by the feeling of pure terror. Surely, I didn’t smell what I thought I smelled. Suddenly Jacob called out, “DAD!” I spun around and looked over to see Abby, legs apart, knees bent, forehead glowing red. And standing over… well, I think you know what I saw. Abby left a little gift on the library floor.

I shoved the books and videos into Jacob’s arms and grabbed Abby. I vaulted us both into the restroom and threw her onto the toilet. I called Jacob in and asked him to stay with her. I grabbed some toilet tissue and went out to retrieve Abby’s “gift.”

I slowly opened the door waiting for the interrogation I knew was coming. As I looked out, no one was staring agape at the bathroom door as I imagined. As a matter of fact, it seemed that no one noticed any of the previous events.

I moved quickly over to the spot and recovered the offending item. As I picked it up I noticed what could only be referred to as a skid mark on the carpet. It was large and prominent. I wiped at it a couple of times only to see it grow in dimension and odor. Quickly I retreated to the restroom to dispose of my quarry.

I picked up Abby, grabbed Jacob by the arm, and once again cautiously exited the safety of the restroom. I expected that someone knew what was going on by this time, and was looking for the offender. But once again, the library was abuzz with the activity of a library, not a janitorial emergency. I squeezed the kids a little closer to my body and set out for the stairs.

Just as I made it down the first flight and turned to start down the second, I heard what I feared was coming. “What is that?” The question was filled with disgust and came from what I was certain was the area of the skid mark. Immediately feet began scuffling about on the second floor. I barely paused. I took the remaining stairs two at a time as I listened to the muffled questions and exclamations from above.

We made it out unscathed. I was pretty sure someone had put two and two together from the earlier fiasco. I imagined that the Library’s version of CSI was already pulling the checkout records to find my name, address, and phone number; testing samples of the leavings; and fingerprinting the restroom door handle. I knew that we could never go back to that library again.

We did return, eventually. It took a few weeks. It took even longer for me to go there without fear. Every time I checked out, I expected the librarian to hand me a cleaning bill with my receipt. The bill never came, and eventually the fear passed.

We visited the Paducah/McCracken County Public Library for the last time in December of 2004. On that trip, which I knew was our last; I gave a last glance to the skid mark. I knew that the Coats family would be remembered (even if not by name) in that building for a long time to come.