Mark Finds a Turd

In April of 2004 Mark and I purchased a business called ‘The Hot Dog House’ in Oakland Park, Florida. I had run the numbers and was sure we could make it work. The day we took over the business I was very happy because we made more money than the seller said she ever made in one day. The deal was, she would stay and help us for the first week while we learned how to run a hot dog stand. The second day was quite different. We didn’t even clear $100, and the seller had disappeared never to be seen again. I’m pretty sure that the day before she had told every one of her friends to show up and buy a hot dog.

Mark has always had a hard time dealing with disasters, calamities, and anything out of the ordinary. ‘The Hot Dog House’, which we renamed ‘Big City Dogs’, was run on a day to day basis by Mark while I continued in my regular job. If Mark had a problem he would call me. My phone would ring and a hysterical voice on the other end would be screaming at me. No hello or 'It's me, Mark', just screaming. There was a problem and Mark's hair was on fire. It didn’t matter where I was, I had to find a way to get over there and fix things, which usually turned out to be nothing more than a blown circuit breaker. Mark also had a running battle with the homeless street people. They seemed to think our hot dog stand was a homeless shelter. The place was laid out with no inside dining, all seating was at concrete picnic tables around the front and side of the building. Every morning it looked like there had been a big homeless beer and wine party at ‘Big City Dogs’. There would be nasty old clothes strewn about and shopping carts full of junk. Mark would open up in the morning and within ten minutes there would be a guy taking a sponge bath in the washroom. The worst of it was the smell of urine. Apparently homeless parties included lots of urinating. We had to wash the place down every day with bleach.
One day while I was working at my hospital job, my phone rang. It was Mark. "I CAN’T TAKE IT ANY MORE! I’M LEAVING AND GOING HOME! THEY SHIT ON THE TABLES!" (followed by the sound of gagging). By the time I got there he was gone. He had left our one employee alone to run the business. Mark has a very weak stomach, and can’t even stand to see a cat cough up a fur ball without gagging and puking. I went around to clean up the mess, and there it was. One single turd. Not even a large turd. It was about the size of a medium dog turd and I washed it off the table with the hose in seconds. This was not how I had envisioned my life as a hot dog tycoon.