Monday June 5th, 2017

The exercise:

Write about: something fishy.

Quite the welcome back to work.

In addition to the tale below, Town Hall was a bit of a rush at the end of the day, as Tammy was so busy on Sunday cleaning up after the car show that she wasn't able to get the washrooms done for me. I managed to do a reasonable job of it in the time I had, and I'm glad that it won't be my turn to clean that office for another four weeks.

Now, on with the fish business.

Mine:

I start my day, as I may have previously mentioned, by driving around to unlock all the public washrooms (other than the three that are on timed auto lock/unlock). My second to last stop on my rounds is Legion Beach. The washrooms there are extremely basic (one stall on each side, no sinks) and are going to be demolished and replaced at some point in the near future.

This washroom has been the site of many adventures already, but this morning went above and beyond anything I've had to deal with previously.

When I unlocked the men's side I could smell it right away. Fish. Delightful.

I went in to have a look and found a dead fish in the toilet bowl. Dee. Light. Full.

I turned around and re-locked the door, as I didn't have any supplies with me. I got my cleaning supplies from the shop, cleaned the washrooms at the main beach (which were surprisingly not too bad), then returned to Legion to deal with the fish.

Turns out? I was mistaken in my initial assessment. There wasn't a dead fish in the toilet bowl.

There were two. One bigger one, one smaller one.

Got them out into a garbage bag, cleaned the bowl, headed to the Public Works yard for coffee break. Dumped the garbage bag with the fish in it in our dumpster there before returning to work.

I have no idea why someone (or someones - I'd hate to credit one person when two or more may have been involved) would do that. I suspect alcohol may have been an influence in the decision making process.

Or, you know, maybe he/she/they were just a-holes.

Either way! You guys get another bathroom story that doesn't involve human excrement! So I guess we all win.

Wait. Pretty sure there was no winning in this story for me.

Um, at least they weren't alive?

There we go, win for me too.

...

Good night.

1 Comments:

Greg said...

Fish in a toilet bowl? I wonder if they were alive when they went in there, with someone thinking that all they needed was water to survive? It does sound like a no-win situation for you, especially since the fish-smell tends to linger. I can see how that wasn't really how you wanted to spend part of your day!

Fishy
Snow had come to the city and while the roofs of the buildings were white and pristine, except where some joker had been up putting reindeer tracks down, the roads were icy and slush-covered. The Mayoress of the city, Natasha Monkeybutt, had put up an announcement saying that the Department of Public Works was snowed in and that people caught using snow-chains would be jailed for damaging the roads, which after all were city property. Cars drove glacially slowly along the roads, drivers hunched over the wheel, their breaths fogging their windscreens, as they struggled to see what was coming and drive into, or around, it. Even so there were still cars pushed the sides, doors bent, windows broken, tires shredded as accidents happened. A bus edged its way along a road layered with black-ice, and every little fishtail had the passengers raising a wail of terror and clinging to each other like shipwrecked souls on a life-raft.
An icy wind carried the warm scent of baking bread down the street, and MacArthur shrugged and sniffed, tempted for a moment to enjoy it. Then the feeling passed and the sweat of the last hour solidified into icicles, and he trudged on. His shoes, worn and holey, let icy water and black slush in, and his toes had gone numb twenty minutes ago. His ankles were starting to go numb as well, but as that alleviated the eternal pain in his feet that wasn't so bad. He turned a corner, crumbling red brick flaking from the wall under the assault of winter as he passed, and trudged ten metres down the street to a glass-fronted shop that might have been a laundrette. The plate-glass window was opaque with steam on the inside, and he took a deep, lung-chilling breath before pushing open the door and going in.
"Wotcha, Mac," said a soft voice. Clouds of steam billowed around him reminding him of a Finnish sauna that had not ended well. "Shut the bloody door, it's cold out there."
"It's blistering in here," he growled, his voice like rocks in a cement mixer, but he pushed the door too. A scent, or maybe taste, of aniseed came through on the clouds of water vapour and started him coughing.
"Normally I'd tell you to take your clothes off," said the voice, and there was humour vying with disgust in the tone, "but in your case I don't see the point. Just walk three steps forward."
The splash indicated that MacArthur had found the large, deep, warm pool that actually took up most of the floor-space in this shop. He plunged beneath the scented water and tried to scream as the heat woke up frozen extremeties and reminded them of what had been happening to them. Water rushed into his lungs, and as he tried to spit it back out again his arms windmilled and he splashed like an aroused manatee.
Strong arms hauled him up above the water and dumped him half in and half-out, bent over the side of the pool, then powerful fists hammered down on his back expelling the water from his lungs. He coughed weakly and slid back into the pool, managing to keep his head above water this time. A greasy grey slick of filth started to spread outwards from his clothes.
"Jesus Mac, you been home in a week?"
"No, Annie," said Mac. "It's been a tough one."
The clouds of steam cleared near the surface of the water, and Mac could see Annie, the only mermaid in town, across the pool.
"So what brings you here?"
"Something fishy."