When I was in high school I had a job at Arby's. Late at night a women burst into the door and made a mad dash for the bathroom. I thought it was no big deal and that the lady probably just had to relieve herself in a hurry. She was in the bathroom for a pretty long time and then left in a hurry. A little bit after she left, I noticed a strange yet familiar odor. After a quick inspection of the lobby of the restaurant, I discovered a trail of diarrhea from the door she entered lasting all the way into the bathroom. It turns out she wasn't in a hurry to go relieve herself, the disaster had probably already occured and she picked the one place on the road that I was responsible to clean to dribble her mess all over the place.
The rest of the story I don't enjoy reliving. I spent the next hour or so cleaning another human's pooh off of the floor and bathroom. My suspicion that the deed was done before she even entered the restaurant was cemented with crucial evidence. She had left a crumpled up pair of heavily soiled underwear in the bathroom. I don't blame her though. With the bad luck those undies obviously bring, combined with the fact that they required hours of intense and detailed cleaning before anyone would even dream of wearing them again, her only option was to rid herself of them and move on with her life.