Last Sunday I was headed toward a church service in town for an afternoon funeral. A long time Y volunteer and former member of my church had passed away. She was a good woman.
I had to park several blocks away and was finishing up a phone call as I neared the sanctuary.
I noticed a couple behind me, so I stepped onto the grass in front of the handsome, wooden double doors that led into the service.
I sort of paced a bit as the conversation was serious. At 2:55, I hung up.
At 2:55 and 3 seconds, I realized I had stepped squarely into the middle of a HUGE pile of light brown dog poo. Others were entering the church. Several glanced at me. One lady shook her head as if I had done something wrong.
I didn’t poop out here lady. I just stepped in it!!
There were a few snickers from the forming line, and although I was not the pooper, my level of embarrassment must have indicated that I was.
I limped over to the side of the church and worked diligently to wipe the dung off on the lawn. When it appeared the majority of the visible damage was gone, I slowly lifted my shoe toward my nose. About chest high I realized I could not enter the church with this shoe on, I smelled like a stable. I pondered my options…
- Hide the shoe under a bush and go in with one foot exposed. Perhaps people, other than those who had observed first hand, would perceive I had an injury. I wasn’t wearing socks so I decided it might be obvious that nothing was indeed wrong with me. That strategy was not going to work.
- Go home. I don’t like funerals anyway. But I had driven quite a ways and had even left the beach the day before so I could come honor this really cool lady who had given so much to others. Certainly there was something else I could do.
- Go in and look around as if someone else smelled like #$%&. I’ve done that before with gas. It can work. But it was risky with this kind of smell. And unlike a poot, it wasn’t going away until I left the building. No good.
- Find a bathroom and pray for the best.
I walked around the building and found a side door I thought I could sneak in. Unfortunately, this church had an incredible Greeting Team. There was a very kind woman standing on the inside of the door with a program for the service in hand. I twisted my face and rustled my hair to make it look like I’d just driven in from far away. I looked at her glassy eyed and whispered, “Where’s the bathroom?”
She pointed around the corner.
It was a three seater so there wasn’t a lock on the door, all were welcome. My hope was most people were seated so perhaps I had the place to myself. Again I removed the shoe. I wiped it with a damp paper towel – didn’t work. I wiped it with a wet paper towel and soap: better, but the smell still lingered. Finally, I put the whole damn shoe under the faucet. That was when the bathroom door opened and a fifty something-year-old man walked in in a three piece suit. He looked nice. Gray pinstripes and nary a trace of poo on his being.
I smiled and acted as if this was normal. Don’t most guys wash their shoes before church?
He went to the urinal.
I tried to rinse the sink to the best of my ability and quickly tossed the wet loafer on my foot. I’m sure he could hear my squish as I walked out toward the pews. HU-MILIATING.
I don’t own a dog mainly because I’m away from home a lot and secondly because I don’t like picking up other’s poo. But apparently that shouldn’t be a reason. Because apparently you don’t have to pick it up. You can just leave it for the world to step in.