As if two jobs and as much photography as I can possibly squeeze in wasn't enough, I thoroughly enjoy writing short stories. Creative writing. Though my style may not be to the liking of some people, as it's blunt and often from the dark side of humanity. But I don't write for other people. I write for my own pleasure and to maintain good mental health. Here is a sample for you.
 He kicked the door to the washroom open
with his big, filthy, steel toed work boots worn out by years of abuse, never
washed or cleaned. Not once. Still stunk like a months old sweaty hockey bag
from the Canadian 2018 World Junior’s gang raping hockey team. Like a bottle
of really foul vinegar. Then he walked in wearing his food industry uniform
and slammed the door behind him hard enough that the entire plywood wall was
shaking behind him. He walked straight up to the mirror, put
both of his filthy hand he hadn’t washed for several days onto the onto the
greasy countertop that the janitor never bothered to clean, just like the
rest of the washroom. The empty sheet scheduling and assigning cleaning
duties told you everything you needed,
but didn’t want, to know. He looked at himself in the mirror, turning his head from side to side. Then he made a grimace bearing his amber coloured,
tobacco stained teeth. Those that were left, that is. Ran his dirty hands,
full of remnants of olive oil and flour dust, through his greasy hair and
gave it a good tussle and turned his head another couple of times; left to
right and right to left as to admire himself what a good looking stud he was.
He hacked up a chunky greenie and spat it into sink, then walked over to the
toilet without rinsing the sink, leaving his lively organisms to multiply on
the warm glaze of the sink. The floor, soaked in piss stains and bits of torn
toilet paper, told you that this was not the washroom that the upstairs management
used and Coastal Health hadn’t been here on any unannounced visit for quite a
while. He looked at the toilet seat, soaked in
urine stains and with the boot imprints from the last guy who took a dump
there, then over to the wall sign explaining how to use, or rather not to
use, a modern-day flush toilet; "this is not a squat toilet". You actually sit
down…on the toilet seat…with your feet on the floor. If you couldn’t
comprehend it in English, which definitely was an issue at that place, there
was a sign with a red cross through it, portraying a person using it as a
squat toilet, both feet on the toilet seat. He just scuffed at it and turned
around to face the bowl. He bent over slightly and look into the
bowl. “Well, at least the water is clean…relatively. Slight yellow tint but
not worth getting all pissy-mood about” he ensured himself. Starring into the
urine diluted water, he put his right index finger on the outside of his
right nostril and blew as hard as he could. It’s surely a guy thing, but an
artform he didn’t quite master yet. The bungie cord of snot dangling from his
left nostril, he wiped off with his hand and rubbed off the snot on his hand
in his apron. He took a 180 and undid his pant, not
bothering to remove his apron, dropped them and assumed his squat position on
the toilet seat, boots on to avoid the pee soaked seat. After taking a dump,
a real nursing log, he ripped off a full two metres of toilet paper and wiped
his ass the best he could. It was literally like wiping your ass in a tennis
ball. After stepping down and hitting the floor
again, he thought about it for a moment or two while he admired the fruits of
his labour, then decided to do the right thing for a change, and pressed the
flush lever with his dirty hand, watching his rotting nursing log hurling
around until it finally disappeared into the void of the sewage system. “Poor
fucking rats who have to deal with that one coming at them”. He pulled his
pants up and wiped his hands in his apron, again. Back at the mirror, he took another look at
himself again. “Is that a pimple”? He leaned forward and confirmed a big,
fully ripe fucker that looked more like an apricot, right on the bridge of
his nose. “How the hell did I miss that one”? He leaned in really close to
the mirror and with right and left hand’s index fingers, he popped the fucker
with a sound that reminded him of stepping on a cell of bubble wrap and the
mirror looked like somebody had smashed a teaspoon of custard on it. Without
hesitation he turned around and walked out the door. “What a fucking cunt”,
he mumbled to himself. Two hour later, after his lunch break which
consisted of a large cheese burger, a small poutine and a litre of Coke and
two Gauloises, he was back at the washroom to take a piss. Standing at the
bowl, apron still on, with his dick in his hand, he noticed the fly in
an incremental lazy walk on the water
tank. He tilted his head a little to the right, eyes fixed on the full-fed
winged bastard insect, as a thought ran through his mind. Then he gave a
little, fast jerk with dick as he aimed straight for the fly…and missed. He
imagined a fly with something similar to human hands, in full flight, being
shot down with a beam of his warm piss, holding a hand over its hit eye as it
went down into the bowl like a kamikaze pilot into the sea. After his first attempt, the fly took off
but continued to buzz around the water tank. He had just enough pressure in
the hose to give it one more shot. One
more try. Missed again as the fly was dancing around like a butterfly. But at
least he got to spread his piss everywhere. “You fucking son of a bitch” , he
mumbled to himself as he saw the fly settle again, this time on the mirror by
the sink. Without any further ado, he walked over to the mirror slowly. He
looked around, picked up a flyer thrown on the floor, rolled it up…and this
time…he got the little fucker. Completely mushed it out on the mirror with a
hard, fast blow. “Take that, fucker. Eat my shit”. Then he zipped up….and
caught his dick skin in the zipper with a scream. In the E.R., they wanted to know what
happened. Early next day, Coastal Health was there, unannounced. ---------------- This story inspired by a certain real-life washroom in a certain real-life place of employment. |
No comments:
Post a Comment