Jenkins scooped it up as soon as he saw it. Its smooth swirl pattern made this dog shit perfect. He stored it in a hot room all week, with liberal use of air freshener. When it was properly dried out, he sprayed it with a few firming chemicals and snuck it into work in a cake container. While everyone went to lunch, ignoring him out of anger for not sharing his cake, he jimmied into the supply room and laminated it. He gave the dog crap three gentle coats, until the surface had a stable sheen. With this achieved, he took out some clear nail polish and the lightest brush he could find, and made for his boss’s office. He lay in wait by the secretary’s desk. When his boss emerged from the elevator, Jenkins dipped the brush in the nail polish and began rubbing it gently over his prize.
“Mr. Dumas,” he called. “You said something about promotions for anyone who could polish a turd?”