Tuesday, April 08, 2008

I'm the rocketman...Story part 1

I have no idea why these two stories relating to the same theme have been bouncing about my head recently. I've made references to them in comments at StupidTom and Slick Sumbich. You are free to give your best guesses to why I'm so consumed.

This is the part of this post where I warn you queasy folks the following two stories belong in bio-hazard waste containers. If you don't want to read anything of that nature, then click HERE.



When you are young and new to the working world you take jobs without much responsibility which don't require wearing a suit. My first real job was checking groceries at a store I call Jim Beam's. Sometimes the job drove you to drinking even if Utah law prohibited the sale of any alcohol besides watered down beer. I worked at Jim Beam's for four years, through high school and beyond.

I didn't mind doing more than my fair share of work at Jim Beam's. I got to paint cutesy holiday motifs on the windows. I got to draw up and then judge the children's coloring contests. I got to go to aisle two and keep the italian dressing properly shaken. I volunteered to clean the restrooms.

Unlike the other tasks, I didn't volunteer to clean bathrooms because it was fun. (Shaking dressing, woot!) I volunteered to clean the bathrooms because when you have 16 year old bagboys responsible for the task things begin looking like a two months gone used Pamper in a landfill in a matter of moments. I knew that if the women's restroom was in need of a hose down then the men's restroom required cleansing by fire.

Not to mention that people visiting public restrooms are just plain nasty. The general public may not be that filthy at home because, hopefully, they have to clean up after themselves, but in public places their bathroom manners go right out the window...

..and onto the bathroom walls...and sink...and mirror...

So, I took it upon myself to make the one toilet/no stalls bathrooms presentable from time to time.

Presentable required rubber gloves, a body covering apron and a jug of bleach fresh off the shelf. A heavy duty scrub brush was also required because the bathroom walls were constructed out of painted cinder block. Cinder block has a pitted surface. All manner of substances stay in those pits. Hjork.

One evening, after meeting one of the bagboys leaving the men's room on my way in to clean it (He was my age and attending my school), I was presented with an entirely new bodily fluid on the wall, a male specific bodily fluid, about six feet up from the floor clinging to the cinder block pits. Still...uh...fresh.

Blink.

Hjork.

I have never been so appreciative of a drain in a bathroom floor in all my life. The bathroom literally did get hosed down. I was not touching any part of it with even my gloved hand or my scrub brush. I knew exactly where that had been.

Holy schmoly, that was some work break buddy! I hadn't realized that bagging groceries was such a stressful occupation. Couldn't you have aimed just a little bit higher? Wanna go to prom with me?

When I was done with the trauma of cleaning the restrooms I made no comment to any of my coworkers, much less the Six Foot Bandit. He knew I knew he knew I knew. At least from that point on there was no evidence of any repeat crimes.

Restroom cleaning was the usual experience after that. Just the expected substances on the walls, which were disgusting enough on their own.

Story 2 tomorrow...

10 comments:

  1. Well, my diet's back on track.

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  4. Equally biohazard comment here:

    I have a friend who had to move because she came home one day to find her roommate had been, umm, applying the same category of body fluid to the ceiling above her bed.

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  5. Ewww...Sistine Chapel...ewwww.

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  6. yeah it worked...my gag reflex is in tact.

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  7. GREEAAAATTTT story. This is so freaking funny. Can you imagine what had him so horny that he was like "Jesus, I gotta wack this off or I won't make it through the next twenty-seven customers' bags of tampons and frozen turkey dinners. Fuck, I'm so fricking HORNY!!!" Dash to bathroom. Do you think there's a connection between your presence and his little bathroom activity?????

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  8. Secondly...he couldn't aim for the toilet?

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  9. No, I don't think his work break had anything to do with my presence. He barely tolerated me. See, I was not popular and he was trying ever so diligently to be popular. I was below his notice. He wouldn't even bag groceries at my checkstand!

    But then, it's hard to not notice me when you've just gotten done yankin the crank and I just happen to be at the bathroom door with my cleaning supplies. I ignored him after, he ignored me, status quo maintained.


    I think I'll google him, hahahahaha.

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  10. I think he already googled himself.

    If you know what I mean...

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