Even Posh People Shit!
During my working life I have had a bizarre variety of jobs. At one point a few years ago I did a short course through the security industry authority and landed a job as a bouncer. A female bouncer, you might ask? Yep, I'm an average five feet, seven inch, medium-built lass. And although I'm not your stereotypical big burly bruiser, I was good at my job, being competent in martial arts, and even better at talking my way out of pretty much any situation. I kinda' had an advantage being a female, in fact, because the men were (mostly) reluctant to hit me, and the women seemed to react better to a sympathetic female than a big burly man dragging them out of the pub.
Anyway, I was working at a popular student bar in a posh university town, in northeast Scotland, where Prince Harry himself went to university. There was rarely any significant trouble at this bar, and although I had to break up a few minor scuffles, my main role there was to check everybody's ID and keep out the under-agers.
One night, after clearing all the drunks out of the bar, I was doing my usual checks, making sure there was no one else in the building before locking up. I went into the Men's bathrooms first. Urine on the floor? Check. Shit on the floor? Check. Puke in the urinals? Check. I headed for the Women's toilets to be faced with a similar mess (luckily it wasn't my job to clean it up!). I noticed, however, with some concern that one of the stall doors was locked. I looked under the stall door and saw a pair of feet, jeans, and pants round the ankles, and runny shit and puke all over the floor. I knocked on the door several times. No answer.
I tried to kick the door in, but the lock was sturdy and would not give. I went into the adjacent stall and stood up on top of the toilet so I could look over the partition. Sitting on the toilet, with her head on her knees, and puke and diarrhea in her pants and jeans, was a slight-looking girl, totally unconscious. I realized I had to get in there, so I climbed onto the top of the toilet tank and managed to climb over the partition, jumping down into the stall (and standing in her shit and puke in the process). I lifted her into an upright position and gently slapped her face, shouting for her to wake up. Slowly, her eyes opened; and head lolling, she began to moan.
I was contemplating calling an ambulance, but as she began to become more coherent she begged me not to, insisting that she was just drunk and had passed out. She explained that she had lost her friends and that she had no way of getting home without them. The poor girl was absolutely mortified at the state she was in, and wouldn't let me get anyone else to come in and help, so I had to deal with this alone.
Luckily, I use to work in a nursing home and had dealt with more than my fair share of shit and puke, so I am far from squeamish. I told her that I would help her get cleaned up and find a way to get home. I popped my head out of the toilet door and shouted to the bar staff -- who were trying to get closed up -- that there was a problem and I would need a little time to deal with it; then I returned to the task at hand.
I had the girl strip off her jeans, socks, shoes, and underwear, and left her sitting on the toilet while I took her clothes and shoes to the sink, where I did my best to wash them under the hot tap. I managed to get all the lumps of puke and shit off her clothes, although the brown stains simply wouldn't wash out. I did a rudimentary job of drying her clothes under the hand dryer and helped her to get dressed again. We must have been in there for a good half hour, and all the time I kept her talking so she wouldn't pass out again.
I took her out of the pub so the closers could lock up and sat with her on the wall outside. I considered giving her a lift home myself, but she lived miles in the opposite direction and I had barely enough petrol to get to my own home, so I asked her if there was anyone she could call. She didn't want anyone to know about her accident, but I convinced her that I couldn't just leave her there, and she eventually agreed to let me call her brother, who came to pick her up.
I never saw her again in that pub, but she did thank me profusely for looking after her, and was very apologetic. "All in a days work," I told her, before heading home to pour myself a stiff drink.