Marblehead And The Deep Sink
I've been crapping in the corner crapper for a few years now. The lock's been fixed, and Knothead has quit bursting in on people unannounced.
Our company has taken hits like everyone else’s in this economy, so we've shrunk quite a bit, employee-wise. We used to pay someone to come in early and clean the restrooms and offices, but we lost that luxury when that someone was unfortunately laid off. The crew and I still needed a clean place to crap, however, so we were assigned cleaning duties on a rotating basis. Of course, the cleaning duties were not assigned to the office folks; they couldn't possibly be expected to clean their own short and curlies in their own crapper. We had to do it for them.
I'm still a Sailor at heart. Cleaning a shitter is no big deal to me, so I gathered my cleaning supplies together and went to work when it was my turn. Truth be told, the shitter was cleaner when we rotated the duties than when one person was paid extra to do it.
The deep sink is located right outside my favorite crapper, which is near the coffee pot. A couple of the office folks have a bad habit of putting their cups and dishes in that sink and waiting for the Dish fairy to take care of them. This sink is the same one into which I pour the wash bucket water after I've scrubbed toilets. Being a reasonably considerate person, I explained to an office dude, one who often left his dishes in the sink, that the odds that someone, after scrubbing the toilets, would remove the dishes from that sink before pouring the shit shine juice down the drain were slim to none. Maybe, I remarked, he ought to store his dishes and cutlery elsewhere, and maybe, I suggested, he should pass the information on to his office mates. As I relayed this to him, he looked at me in the same manner as a cow does at a passing train. The concept of cleaning a shitter was out of his scope of comprehension, along with how the cleaning fluids would be disposed of afterwards; obviously, he’d never had to clean a thing in his life.
Well, too bad. I poured the shit shine juice in the deep sink after I cleaned toilets with a clear conscience. I tried to warn him. I even explained the issue to Knothead; but I did so to no avail.
Four months later, we suffered another round of layoffs, which left even fewer people to clean the shitters. During this time, the office folks were assigned their own crappers to clean. I saw the dude I’d first warned come out to prepare some cleaning supplies. He was lost – didn’t seem to have a clue what to do. The swab he’d grabbed in one hand was nasty and rotten, and the flimsy plastic bucket he held in the other was half full of pure pine oil. I just couldn't let him go off like that, so I stopped the well-dressed Marblehead and demonstrated how to prepare a mop bucket with the right cleanser. I then demonstrated how to clean a shitter by cleaning my favorite one as he watched. After I was done, I demonstrated what to do with the waste water by dumping it in the deep sink.
He put two and two together. The look on Marblehead’s face was worth the price of admission; it finally hit him why I had been so emphatic that the officer workers not leave their cups in the deep sink. He turned pale, surely with the realization that not only had he been drinking out of a shit water-bathed cup for four months, but also that there was nothing he could do about it. He'd been amply warned.
Mysteriously, cups aren't left in the sink anymore.