The Fan

Gumbo leaned back against the creamy tiles of the Interior Minister’s restroom wall. The plastic ceiling fan spiraled above him. He studied the toilet in front of him the way a boxer may study his foe after a couple of hard-fought rounds. Man, who would have thought a 754 model would block itself up this badly?  Gumbo had never seen the need for the new self-dilution models. He took pride in the manual flusher he owned.  You start something yourself, you should finish it yourself.   The hands-free models could never give that satisfaction. The trendy 754 was just the latest fad to capture the hearts of retro-porcelain fashionistas. “A s**t’s a s**t no matter how it disappears” he’d remind his wife whenever she pressed him for the cleaner, more hygienic, guaranteed to make your a*s happy, 754. Gumbo closed his eyes, the faint whirring of the fan relaxing him. Blue household-acidic disposal fluid dripped from his shielded left arm. The mechanical plunger clamped just below his elbow still hung over the edge of the bowl.  It was past eight o’clock, but he wasn't a morning person at all.  He had a slight headache from the internal team networking device implanted behind his outer ear. Gumbo had woken to its reverberating buzzing just before six.  Damn thing will be the end of us all.  Sighing, he raised himself up on one knee and reinserted the plunger and his arm into the 754’s bowels. The plunger, bendy and wormlike, sought its target like a mouse in a maze.  “Come on baby,” he coaxed, “Gumbo’s ready to go home.” Gumbo had decided that whatever this lump was it probably didn't come from inside a human. Some people went for cool things like ultra-flexible chromium intestines or internal nutrient sub-infusers, but what the plunger was registering was too solid for a simple insertion malfunction. This involved something beyond human waste. Gumbo was pretty sure the Interior Minister was human. His theory that politicians were stuck in the missing link stage of evolution was known to anyone who made it past small talk.  At night, after a Pogbelly stout or two, he would often rant on some political forums about the stupidity of “The System '' and how the world would be better off without these a-holes.  Then two things happened at once. The plunger started to beep and the door behind him faded open. “How much longer do you think you will be?”  Gumbo peered into the bowl with narrowed eyes. He took a second to answer. “Umm… probably 10 minutes. You got something metal stuck down here.” He paused and looked over his shoulder at the person behind him. “Minister …umm…,” he searched for her name, “Kaleema?” Kaleema took a step back to stand just outside the door entrance. “There shouldn’t be anything metal in my toilet. Where did it come from?” “Not sure what it is yet. As I said …umm… if you give me some space, I can sort it out.” Gumbo huddled closer to the bowl. Kaleema didn’t move.  Gumbo rubbed the back of his neck. “I will let you know when it’s done, Minister. It’s hard for me to focus when I am being watched, you know.” He waved his right hand in small circles. “Makes me feel like I’m being judged, like something will go wrong, …umm… makes me feel like the s**t’s gonna hit the fan.” Gumbo saw the look of disdain on the Minister’s face. He liked that.  Her lips curled. “Don’t tell me about being judged. Every second of my day is judged. Ungrateful bastards. I work my a*s off and still they complain.” Gumbo had seen Minister Kaleema on the flash holo-viddies a few times. Calm, always proper, no passion. Gumbo had never felt connected to her. He doubted anyone did. The forums called her “Robobitch” and most predicted next week’s elections would be her curtain call.  “Okay. Right.” Gumbo felt his thigh cramping and switched legs. “You got a big week next week. Guess you’re feeling a bit ...umm... edgy.”  The plunger clicked and gripped. The beeping was continuous. It had never done this before. His eyes flicked to his g-pad.  Maybe I should look up the manual... Nah. Get it out, and then get me out.  “Edgy?” She c****d her head. “No. Not edgy. They have me ten points behind in the polls. I’m f*****g angry. But I know, we know, how to turn that around.” “Well that’s just fine then,” said Gumbo. “Good to have a plan, I guess”. He started to inch the plunger out with the metal object fixed to its quadruple fingers. He stayed focused on the bowl.  Kaleema spat, “f*****g right I have a plan.’ She leaned towards him. Her eyes intense. “Sympathy. Get the dumbasses to feel sympathy and boom ... back to the top.” Gumbo was already drafting his posts for tonight. His political credibility would skyrocket. “Umm… I guess you’re right, Minister.”  “And I know what will get me that sympathy.” Kaleema straightened up. “Assassination attempt! Bomb in the toilet! Office blasted to the sky! Luckily the poor victimized minister had just stepped out to get a snack from the cafeteria.” Her fists rubbed her eyes like a crying child. “Ohhhh, boohoo, poor poor minister.” She laughed, stretching her arms out. “Sympathy galore!”  Gumbo frowned as the plunger retracted. “Well …umm… a bomb in the toilet seems hard to pull off. I mean you have security everywhere. How would anyone get a bomb in the toilet?”  “It would have to be someone unknown to the office. Someone who had expressed public political anger. Someone who had access to the toilet. Someone who could smuggle a bomb in using an inversion bag.” A bag fell from Kaleema’s hand as she paced backward towards the large doors. The plunger’s fingers came to the edge of the bowl. The beeping stopped. Gumbo saw the rectangular box. The box burped once. A tinny voice started counting 10… His eyes bulged. 9… He fully turned to face the office. 8… It was empty. 7… He jumped to his feet, thigh squealing. 6… Stumbling, he reached the door. 5… It was locked from the outside. 4… The intercom frizzled into life. 3… “Well, plumber man.” 2… Gumbo slumped to the ground. 1… “I guess the s**t just hit the fan.”