The Floor Turd

I moved around a lot as a kid; dad in the Army, parents divorced, which meant not staying in one place very long, making long-term friendships impossible. But my situation attracted bullies like flies.

When I was seven, I moved to a new school. A bully picked up my scent instantly. Tripping and shoving. Making fun of my clothes. Nothing too terrible, but I was already unhappy, so I felt miserable anyway.

One school day, I asked to use the restroom. I passed by the bully’s classroom on the way into the bathroom.

When I entered the the restroom, someone was in the only stall, crapping on the floor. I walked out of the bathroom, disgusted, ready to tell on them.

I was ready to re-enter my classroom when an incredible, yet devious idea came to me. I went straight to my bullies classroom and walked inside.

Everyone looked at me, which normally would have given me enough hesitation to turn me right around and back to class. But that day, I didn’t so much as pause. I walked up to the teacher’s desk, pointed at my tormentor and boldly proclaimed that he had shit on the bathroom floor.

The teacher’s reaction was better than I could have ever expected. She made him follow her into the restroom while he cried and slobbered out “I didn’t do it! He’s lying!” over and over again. She then grabbed a wad of paper towel, handed it to him and we watched as he picked it up and put it into the commode. She thanked me for telling her and told me to go back to my classroom.

This happened about twenty years ago. I still look back at this