As told to Zoe Simmons.
I’d begun the shopping trip from hell when my four-year-old daughter Keely suddenly began to scream.
“I NEED TO DO A POO!” Keely panicked.
I had only had moments – I grabbed my daughter, asking the check-out server where the nearest bathroom was—but it was too late. It happened.
It went everywhere.
All over my hands, all over my other daughter, all over the floor. There was a two metre radius of poop.
I was literally holding her dress in a way that once I let go, the bulk of it would collapse everywhere.
I tried to not look at everyone staring. The smell was horrid.
I wanted to do was disappear, vanish. What do I do, what the hell do I do? I thought. Nearby, a group of women were giggling.
Suddenly, it was all hands on deck. Three women jumped to help me. One woman in particular got down on hands and knees and helped wipe up the mess.
One man handed me a toilet roll he’d just bought.
Another in line behind me definitely wasn’t overjoyed and glared at me, like I’d caused him great grief.
A lady dropped a coin nearby that rolled in a big circle before landing right under Keely. I looked up and asked: “Do you really want that back?”
I was on my hands and knees, wiping the floor with a pack of wet wipes I’d been about to purchase. I’d been half-way through having my items scanned when IT happened.
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People literally had to step over poo to get out of Aldi.
The staff were incredibly nice, and responded: “It happens all the time.” Um, what?
Soon enough, my four-year-old’s clothes were bagged and they we were on our way. Keely’s reaction was a side effect to some new medication, though she has thankfully since recovered. At least physically.
As if the Aldi check-out isn’t stressful enough.