Unfiltered Story #117782

, | Unfiltered | July 30, 2018

(non-dialogue)
This story happens two years ago when I first started my current job.
At the grocery store where I work we offer motorized scooters with attached baskets for shoppers who have limited mobility. Whenever a customer finishes shopping and drives the scooter out into the parking lot it is required one of the courtesy clerks (fancy name for baggers) has to accompany them and drive the cart back in.
On this fine and lovely day I was bagging for a rather infamous duo. These two regulars- father and son- have the reputation for being the smelliest customers to ever shop at our store. To be fair, they both are senior citizens, so I shouldn’t bash them for personal hygiene as I have first-hand experience through helping my grandparents that bathing is not an easy task, but these two could put a clogged truck stop gas station toilet on a hot and humid summer day to shame.
Anyways, as the cashier finishes up the transaction I, the lucky bagger that day, try to breath as little as possible while loading their groceries into their scooter’s basket. The father, being older than the son, always rode it as the son helped grab things off the shelf. For some odd reason, though, today the father insisted that his son drove the scooter to the car while he hoofed it with his cane. As the dad slowly picked himself up off the chair he bent over just far enough to reveal his adult diaper sticking out of the top of his britches. Like a train wreck I knew I should look away, but my eyes were drawn to it. I saw, much to my abject horror, that there was a brown skid-mark neatly drawn down the middle. As we started out slow, agonizing walk to their vehicle I began to dread what would come next. We reached it and I helped load the groceries into the trunk as the son helped his father into the passenger seat. After I finished the son turned and thanked me, to which I smiled and nodded as my eyes watered from both the stench that surrounded me and the knowledge of what I was about to do; a final surprise waited for me, however. As the son stepped into the driver’s side his shirt rose just enough to reveal he too wore an adult diaper, sporting-you guessed it- a wonderful brown line right back and center. My eyes turned to the cart’s seat, which for the past hour or so had been occupied by both men.
Now, you must understand that our carts were designed with “safety first” in mind. In the padding of the chair is a simple pressure switch. It acts as a fail-safe, immediately shutting down the scooter if it doesn’t have a rump placed firmly on top of it. I cursed the designer of that safety measure with every fiber of my being as I rode that foul scooter back to the store.