This is a horrifyingly disgusting confession. I’m a women in her late twenties now, and for five years of my life, I was the manager at a metropolitan frozen yogurt shop. I graduated college and started my career some time ago, leaving its sticky floors and annoying customers behind. But I recently noticed that it closed down due to covid-induced economic strain, and was reminded of the terrible, horrifyingly disgusting thing I used to do.

I opened the shop by myself five days a week, sometimes more, and whenever I came in I made sure I was absolutely bursting for a piss so I could empty my full bladder into the thawing orange sorbet mix. At first I tested the waters with steadily increasing increments. Turns out, customers and coworkers could never taste the difference, so I mixed in my hot piss freely every morning, and drank water constantly so I could prepare the orange sorbet refills for the rest of the day. It was a relatively popular flavor, and I took sick pleasure whenever someone dispensed a bowl for themselves. Snooty old lady’s, loud teenagers, negligent parents and spoiled kids; all tasted of my golden nectar. It was actually one of my employees go-to’s and I gleefully coaxed them into making a bowl for themselves whenever they came in. What a rush!

Five days a week. Five. Years.