Serious Business
June 24, 6:04am: It was the worst offense of corporate diarrhea I’d ever seen. Runny spatter sprayed everywhere, wet toilet paper with skid marks by the toilet seat, and a distinct brown smear on the light switch. Not to mention the four flattened dingle berries on the back of the toilet.
“We called you right away.”
I can see by the look on his face he means business.
“My partner and I unlocked the office early this morning to go over some financials.” He continues. “Neither one of us noticed anything until I went to take my mid-morning dump. Well…” He pauses. “I was going to take a dump until I walked into this.”
He opens the door and a hot rancid draft hit my face.
My first instincts — A bad case of diarrhea and somebody was definitely in a hurry to get out of there.
But why? I scan the stall.
“My partner says he took a massive poop at McDonalds before work this morning. And he has to walk by my office to get to the toilet, so I would have seen if he went in there. But I guess it’s possible — I was pretty busy this morning.”
He continues. “Or it could have been from yesterday — we have several other employees that use this bathroom. But I normally take a huge dump towards the end of the work day, so I think I would have noticed.”
I surveyed the explosion and absorbed the thick rancid odor.
“How much did you have to drink yesterday?” I inquired.
“Not much” he says. His eyes dart to the side.
“What did you have for dinner last night?”
“Just a can of ravioli, and some Doritos — we had board reports due so I stayed late. And I may have had a plate of nachos when I got home.” He looks confident with his answers.
“What’s that brown smudge on your finger?” I grab his hand before he has a chance to make a move.
“Just a dab of frosting.” he says. “We bought a chocolate cake for Meg in accounting.”
“Doesn’t smell like chocolate.” I counter, studying his face for clues. He doesn’t react. “Do you mind if I blot your finger on this envelope?”
“Well, uh, OK.” He snickers nervously. “You must really like cake.” His confidence is fading.
“Any reason come to mind why your fingerprint matches this smudge of diarrhea on the light switch?”
I can see his posture change and his eyes drop towards his feet. The gig is up.
“I mean, I had a lot to drink yesterday. Things get hectic around here during tax season.”
“Check mate.” I mutter under my breath.
The sour stench of greenish brown spatter suddenly smelled a little bit more like justice.
He collapses to the bathroom floor with his face hidden in his hands. “I guess I figured if I called you first, everyone would think it was someone else.”
“This ain’t my first rodeo. And unfortunately it won’t be my last with predictable douche bags like you.”
When I close the bathroom door, a hefty wift of diarrhea blows through my hair. I take a deep breath and felt the aroma absorb into my skin.
There are no winners in this game. But when the perpetrator is identified — that’s how I can sleep at night.
Dave Alexander is Chief Investigator and Lead Detective at www.ShitterSleuth.com.
