Kansas City Hot Brown

This unfortunate event happened while living in Kansas City.

When you have stepped on something and it sticks to the bottom of your shoe, gum for instance, you immediately acknowledge that fact. "Something is stuck to my shoe." It alters your gate, awaiting investigation, then the culprit is dismissed. Yesterday, I went to Blockbuster to rent a movie.*

*Blockbuster's have no public restrooms. If you've got to go, you've got to go someplace else. I know from personal experience and now practical experience, that you should use the restroom prior to your visit.

So I was walking around the store looking through the new releases.
Aside: When I am hiking through the forest I look down as I place my steps so as not to trip or twist an ankle. Urban living has erased this habit, level ground abounds, so as I pondered what to rent I unknowingly stepped in a pile of poo.
Yes, within the confines of such a fine establishment, some child (oh I hope it was a child) had confused the floor with the toilet and I was the victim. Dumbfounded by the idea that someone would lay a steamer right there in the floor, I was in denial, it had to be a dropped Reese's peanut butter cup. It didn't even look like one but my mind was made up. People just don't doo doo on the floor in the middle of the day. I rent my movie, walk outside, still in shock, and consider. There is no way that's poo. All logic and reason says that it is but come on, Blockbuster? Maybe if I'm walking through the park! I simply have to know. I turn up my foot, tap it with my finger, smell it, and dry heave. It was poo. I know. I touched it, then smelled it.
I have been defiled.