The last full time job I held down was working in minor league baseball. It was a miserable gig, located in the lovely 909 area code of California. I worked about seventy hours a week earning an average of three to four dollars an hour. Also, inland in southern California during the months of June through September are equivalent to hell on earth. My first summer working in single A baseball I was only out there on gamedays, so I had a slight reprieve (though I also was unpaid), but I was less fortunate when I joined full time the following year.
The staff I worked with were good people for the most part, though it was a bit of a revolving door. The sales staff had something like 75% turnover rate each season. During my brief tenure there were also a few different groundskeepers. The original groundskeeper, who I will call Jay Leno, was a big dude. Like really big. He was about 6'2 or something, but had to weigh easily around 300 pounds. He wasn't a bad guy, but he wasn't a great groundskeeper. His personal hygiene was also pretty suspect, as he had been told multiple times he smelled like a petting zoo. His roommate, who was part of the sales staff my first year there, one time described their apartment as resembling "the horse stalls at the Kentucky derby" after Jay Leno had his girlfriend over.
The lack of cleanliness spread to the office as well, where his desk seemed like a bio-hazard zone. There were cups of spat out sunflower seeds, cups of month old soda, and his personal dip cups. His old shirts covered the remainder of his desk. His chair was waterlogged in sweat and farted in so often the leather seat had folded in on itself. Every time he used the bathroom it smelled like a mass grave left out in the sun. It got bad enough to where he was unofficially banned from using the main office's lone bathroom.
Luckily, on the other side of the stadium past centerfield there was the grounds crew's garage. It had a small, modest bathroom that no one would use because no one besides Jay Leno was ever out there. It became his personal shit hole. That was until about a year later where he felt like gracing the main office's bathroom regularly again. Jay Leno left us a few weeks later, and when doing a check up of the grounds crew garage it became evident why he started using the main office's bathroom again.
The toilet in the garage had become clogged after a massive shit Jay Leno had taken. Instead of trying to unclog the toilet, he let it sit. He then proceeded to use the toilet regularly still while it was still clogged. Shit piled up and Jay Leno had only stopped using the toilet once it was literally filled to the rim with crap. It was like that for weeks. The plumber called out to unclog the toilet apparently had his plumbing snake break during the effort. When the toilet finally was emptied, the bowl was stained black. A few of the staff (thankfully not me) had to power-wash the shit off of the bowl. Unfortunately a flake of shit wound up in one of their mouths.
The grounds crew that year finally had access to the garage's bathroom. However, nobody ever used the toilet again. It became something like a haunted room. Or like if there was bedroom where someone had died. You just wanted nothing to do with it. Even with everything removed and cleaned up, the memory (or maybe the stench) lingered on.
The super stacked shit and the Dallas Stars are one in the same, truly. Though Dallas may have left the Pacific division, their memory of being buckets of shit lives on.
More from Battle of California:
Ducks Gameday: More Power
Los Angeles Kings Gameday: A Warning
Sharks Gameday: Disarming Bombs
Ducks Gameday: The Cocks We Could Have Seen
Los Angeles Kings Gameday: Don't Get Cocky