The Legend of Poopy Feet

This week is my last week as a swimming lessons teacher. Needless to say, I am heart broken. So, as I try to hold together the pieces of my heart, enjoy this true story.

“The Legend of Poopy Feet”

It was a sunny summer day that started the same as any other. I woke up at 5 AM, ran 10 miles, milked the cows, horses, and llamas, and translated an Old English manuscript. I then headed to the pool to teach swimming lessons. Out of my numerous other contributions to society, such as my ground breaking research in cancer treatment, my creation of the first car running on Mountain Dew, or single handedly solving the world hunger crisis by exporting all morbidly obese Americans to Africa, it is my work in swimming lessons that I am the most proud of.

On this day, I was teaching an entry level class with a good friend of mine, Raeann Schlenker. We had an unusually small class with only two little girls in it.

The little girl that is the focus of our story will be known from this point on as “Poopy Feet”. Poopy Feet was the delightful result of inbreeding and an endless supply of McDonalds. From this description, it is obvious that she was not only extremely attractive but also intelligent and coordinated… NOT

Regardless of this child’s numerous setbacks and dismal future including a stint on “16 and Pregnant” followed by “Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader?” (hint: no she isn’t) she was an upbeat child with a smile always plastered on her face.

Today was different.

We should have known.

We only have ourselves to blame.

After being moody and sluggish all through lessons, I asked her if anything was wrong. She said she was fine but asked if she could go to the bathroom and being the nice teacher I am (and not wanting to swim in this girl’s pee) I told her to go ahead but hurry back.

As Poopy Feet began to crawl up the ramp to get out of the pool, literally moving at the speed of snail in slow motion, I yelled “Hurry up!”

As Raeann and I watched her stand up nasty, runny, chunky (and any other disgusting word you can think of) diarrhea squirted out of her suit, down her leg, and into the pool.

(Pause for dramatic effect)

INTO THE POOL.

No one has ever seen jaws drop as quickly as ours did but before we had time to recover, who should trot on out of the bathroom and slide back into the pool? Poopy Feet.

Because she had only been in the bathroom for 2 seconds I asked if everything was ok. Poopy Feet responded that she couldn’t go because there was something in the toilet and asked me to go back there with her. Trying to hold back vomit, I follow her, only to discover a little track of poopy footprints leading to the bathroom from her first trip, a little track of poopy footprints leading away from the bathroom from her failed attempt, and a fresh track of poopy footprints leading back to the bathroom where there was no telling what I would find.

Surprise twist! There was nothing wrong with the toilet other than the fact it had a colored cleaner in it. Understandably, the cleaner was very frightening to Poopy Feet who prefers to walk around covered in her own excrement.

At this point I left Poopy Feet in the bathroom alone to go find her mother and find a quiet corner to vomit up everything I have ever eaten.

It didn’t take long to locate Poopy Feet’s mom who was, not surprisingly, everything you would expect. Some variation of an “I Love America Shirt”, jeans which did a good job of highlighting her muffin top, some sort of hair cut reminiscent of the1980’s, and the mannerisms of a milk cow. After locating the mother (who had actually seen the whole thing but for some reason decided not to intervene as her daughter shat all over the premises) I brought her into the bathroom where Poopy Feet was only to discover a vision of horror that still haunts my sleep.

I opened the stall door and (from left to right) saw Poopy Feet, the bottoms of her swim suit, a pile of shit, and about 2 inches away from this pile… the toilet.

My day was ruined. My summer was ruined. My life was ruined.