Guest Blogger: Pornclerk Andrew...SHITZILLA!

Pornclerk Andrew is more than a clerk, he is an extremely gifted writer and a fellow soldier with us, literally in the SHIT.  Though probably each of us clerks have our own personal Shitter story, this one is The Freddy Krueger of Shitters.  Andrew kindly gives us, Shitzilla.  Turn on all the lights.  Lock your bathroom door from the inside so nothing can escape and read on if you dare.  

~pornclerk.com editorial staff 

My coworker’s friend Phillip came into the store just to shoot the shit, He was a

bouncer at a dive bar down the street from my store and always would tell me stories of his days bouncing at my favorite girly bars around Portland. As we were talking a little Mexican guy brought a DVD up to the counter asking for a preview. I said that I’d put him in booth 2. After a few minutes of collecting four rolls of paper towels sheet by sheet the Mexican guy came out of the booth and up to the counter.

 

“Amigo, ders somebody seeping in der,” he said.

 

I rolled my eyes and though here we go again. After reassigning the Mexican guy to another booth, I grabbed the Mag-light and headed back to the arcade. Sleeping porn store customers happens on an occasional basis. Middle age combined with the influence of alcohol can psychically exhaust a person after they have just covered themselves in their own semen. 

 

Though a sleeping customer is not an everyday occurrence in an adult video arcade, it happens enough that most porn clerks have worked out a procedure into handling the situation. (Since this incident the management at my store has added a rape whistle to our keychain to wake people up.) I popped open the door to booth 2 and banged on the side of the wall with the butt of the Mag-light. In the glow of the DVD menu screen I saw a tall lanky man slumped out on the padded bench, he was completely naked. I was surprised to see that this man was not really in the bottom of the pecking order of porn store customers. He wasn’t a trailer dweller who didn’t pay for his booth time with bottle refunds. He seemed well groomed, un-famished and probably had only seen crystal meth on TV. In fact what seemed like moments before he came though the entrance to my store sporting and Izod polo shirt and pressed kakis, he even smiled at me and said hello.

 

“Wake up!” I yelled. He groaned like a middle school kid who’s mom was telling

them breakfast was really. “Get dressed. I want you out of here in five minutes.” I left the booth and went back to the counter. I watched the clock. A part of me was anticipating the disappointment I’d feel when he’d becoming out of the booth within two minutes.

 

“What’s happening?” Phillip asked.

 

“Oh nothing, some asshole just fell asleep in the booth. This happens from time to time.”

 

The five minutes passed and they guy still hadn’t left the booth. I sighed. I did

not want to have to deal with an “incident” as we call situations like this in the porn clerking business. I went into the booth banged harder with the Mag-light. “If you’re not out of here in two minutes you’ll be banned permanently!” I yelled, with more conviction than before. The guy just groaned louder. I walked back to the counter but with more frustration than my previous booth visit.

 

Philip saw that the incident was getting to me.“Dude let me handle this. I have

to deal with this shit all the time.” This was true; Phillip made a living as a bouncer strip clubs Devil’s Point and the Acropolis Steakhouse. It was a safe bet that he’d encountered his fair share of drunk dickheads in his day. I handed him the Mag-light and watched from the counter as he walked back into the arcade. Almost immediately he came back out sporting a thousand yard stare of horror on his face.

 

“Dude, you can deal with that fucker, I’m not going to.”

“Why?”

 

“He just shit himself.”

 

My eyes bugged out of my head “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

My heart sank as I began to realize what I had gotten myself into.

 

I left what I perceived to be a high stress and demanding job at Miller Paint to work in the pornography business. Despite a four dollar an hour pay cut, I figured that working in an adult retail establishment would meet most of my slackerish demands. They don’t care about my piercings, I don’t have to wear a uniform and my boss is well aware of how much marijuana I smoked. With all the downtime I had a chance to catch up on my reading and do homework. But with all the perks of the porn clerking profession I began to realize that I was face to face with the fine print. Nudity and fecal matter were two things I would have never had to deal with had I kept a career in home improvement.

 

“Well.” I said “We got to get him out.”

 

I stormed into the booth and pounded on the wall of the booth. I saw him still

lying on the bench passed out. If Chuck Berry and GG Allin saw the amount of fecal matter he was covered in, they would have ejaculated.

 

“LISTEN SHIT STAIN YOU NEED TO GET OUT THE FUCK OUT OF MY

STORE RIGHT….”

 

“HEY!” He sprang to his feet out of his drunken stupor. Little chucks of shit fell

off of him. “WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN MY BOOTH?!” The shit monster lunged toward me I got out of the booth just in time to see the side of his face hit the wall.  Customers who witnessed the situation said that I did a thirty-foot standing long jump in half a second.  I shined the Mag-light into the booth and I saw the shit monster poke his head from behind the corner with a murderous rage in his eye. He yelled at me but I was too traumatized to remember what he said.

 

 

Psychologist say that when a person experiences a traumatic event, the brain is

overwhelmed with processing the situation that the short term memory is overloaded, leaving parts of the event blackout from a person’s mind. This was something I never understood until this incident. Before I knew it I was behind the counter and Shitzilla was trying to put on his clothes as he yelled at me walking out the door. The Phillip and the rest of the customers were frozen in shock. I grabbed the baseball bat hidden behind the counter. While genuinely freaked out I could remember very little over the events of the final outcome of this incident. What I think happened was that another customer in the store might have called 911 on their cell phone. Within what seemed like only a few seconds after the attack the police were in our parking lot. Shitzilla had gotten into his black Dodge Stratus and put the keys in the ignition, which by legal definition is a DUI. I wanted to explain to the police what happened. I could have filed attempted assault with bodily waste on this asshole, but I just wanted this situation to go away. 

 

I spent the final hour of my shift with my face in my palm wishing that I got paid more the $8.40 an hour. But all I did was lock the booth and put a hand made "do not enter" sign on the door, wishing I knew Spanish well enough to apologize the janitor who would have to clean it up the next morning. 11 O’clock rolled around and pulled out of the parking lot as the tow truck was taking away Shitzilla’s car. The next day on the way to school I passed by a bus stop in front of the county jail. Shitzilla was standing there; apparently the guards had hosed him down since I last saw him.

 

On occasion Shitzilla tries to comeback into my store. He doesn’t understand why I don’t let him back in. I doubt he has any memory of the whole event, he doesn’t know how lucky he is. 

 

Because I really wish I could forget it.