Convenience

Chapter One: 08:50 - 10:00-2

The result made the walkway dank and depressing, like the queue for a horror train at a theme park.

A pink elephant with a blue saddle marked the halfway point. Made of plastic, it was a children’s ride that offered the occupant a decidedly dodgy to-and-fro for the nominal sum of fifty pence per go. It was surprisingly popular when the schools were done for the day.

When a kid stopped their parent en route to the toilets, they’d demand to ride the pink elephant. Every time their demands were met, you’d know about it.

Willy didn’t want to think about that as he reached into his pocket and took out his bunch of keys. He half-entertained the notion of stopping at the drinks dispenser. The prospect of an overpriced cola was inviting but, eventually, he thought better of it. He had a tin of drink in his lunch box.

Perhaps he could make it last all day. Besides, one pound fifty for a small bottle of cola was a bloody rip-off.

The convenience area outside the toilets was bulbous. That is to say, if the walkway there was the shaft of the p***s, then the bathrooms were the base.

A gentleman’s facility loomed to the right acting as the southern-most testicle. The one to the left was the ladies. The middle unit, fondly referred to as the perineum, housed the baby changing facilities.

Opposite all three was the janitor’s office. Willy Gee’s place of work.

He threw the gold key into the lock and turned it.

The door flung inward and allowed him inside. He set his lunch box onto the wooden computer desk that faced the door. Willy shook the flask and unscrewed the cap. He held it in his hand and poured some of the piping hot contents into it.

Sip, sip, sip.

Ahhh. Mostly fresh coffee. Perhaps the one part of the day that’d be worth living for.

Willy closed his eyes for a few seconds. He knew any moment now that the piped-in muzak would begin to play.

Sure enough, it did. Like clockwork.

A tinny mock-jazz version of Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns & Roses spat out through the decades-old speakers. It was pathetic. If anyone were to scramble toward the toilet with their trousers around their ankles, they’d be losing weight to Axl Rose’s dulcet tones.

Willy sniggered to himself and opened his eyes. It was past nine in the morning, now.

A picture of him and his family stood on the corner of the desktop. He swallowed down his mouthful of coffee and stared at it in something of a daze. It didn’t last long. He’d had enough and returned to the vacated section of his brain, trying to settle on his duties for the day.

The ladies and gents needed unlocking and made available for the punters.

He threw the metal key ring over his middle finger and swung them around his hand.

With absolute precision, one gold key with a pink cover fell between his index and middle finger.

The flask lid hit the desk and Will walked out of the office.

The pink-headed key ran out from the keyhole. Willy stepped inside the ladies toilet and performed a quick scan. Sheila, his colleague, had cleaned up before she clocked off last night. It would appear that she’d done a very good job.

The row of six washbasins was in pristine order. Each mirror had been squeegeed to near-perfection. It was almost as if you could eat your dinner off it.

Opposite the basins, all six cubicle doors were all half-open. They seemed to offer the potential occupier to come in and relieve themselves.

Each toilet roll holder was fully stocked, with a secondary roll of paper housed in the plastic compartment.

The seats were all clean and the floors were immaculate.

There was just one thing missing this morning.

Sheila.

Willy walked out of the ladies toilet and into the convenience area. He took out his phone and hit the screen.

As he waited for Sheila to answer, a woman made her way toward him from the corridor.

"Oh. Excuse me," the woman said, "Do you work here?"

Willy nodded and kept the phone to his ear.

"Oh. Thank God for that," she hitched her skirt up and ran into the ladies toilet.

"Hi, this is Sheila," came a voice from Willy’s phone. "I can’t get to the phone right now. Please leave a—"

Willy cut the call and immediately redialed. He took a seat on the waiting bench, crossed his legs and jangled a bunch of keys in his free hand.

"Hi, this is Sheila. I can’t—"

Willy cut the call one again. As he passed the phone to his other hand, he felt something knock against the side of his shoe.

He looked down to find a nasty little rat looking up at him with an apologetic face.

Willy scowled and shooed it away with his foot. The furry creature scuttled away under the bench.

He lowered himself to his knees and pressed his hands onto the edge of the bench. His eyes moved under the wood and spotted a scared, little creature huffing back at him.

Its face indicated that it didn’t want any trouble and was simply lost.

Willy clicked his fingers and urged it toward him. He wasn’t going to do it any harm. Neither were to blame for the rat being there. That particular accusation could be levelled at the coffee shop for refusing to dispose of their waste properly.

Click, click. Willy snapped his fingers.

The rat refused to move. It moved back on its haunches, against the skirting board.

Willy moved in.

"Oh. My God," a woman screamed from the door, "What on Earth do you think you’re doing?"

Willy banged his head on the underside of the bench. He gripped the edge and pulled his head out from under it. Shock and surprise fell across his face.

The woman adjusted her waist as the door to the ladies swung shut behind her.

"Were you looking up my skirt?" She was deadly serious asking that question.

Willy shook his head in defiance.

"Filthy pervert. I should report you."

Willy rose to his feet and held out his hands. He was about to speak, but the young woman was so offended.

"Ugh, no," she stormed off in a temper, "I don’t wanna hear it. Your type make me sick."

Clomp, clomp, clomp.

As the Guns N Roses track came to an abrupt end, so, too, did Willy’s time with the woman who had figured him out wrong.

It made him chuckle. He had stories galore of mishaps and misunderstandings during his time working here. This morning’s first customer would be one for the record books. It’d make for an entertaining story for his friends down the pub later. Or, at least it would if he had any friends.

Willy looked down at his shoe. The rat stood beside him, almost assuming its position as an ally.

Willy chuckled at it as it looked up at him. Maybe the pair could laugh about this one day. The furry little bastard was about as close a friend as Willy had these days.

The gents toilet.

Willy had a hospital appointment early yesterday evening. He hadn’t cleaned up quite as thoroughly as he’d have liked. It wasn’t a bad job, though.

Much like in the ladies toilet, the basins were all clean, here. They weren’t immaculate. Even if they had been, the first hour of business would have rendered it looking as it was. Acceptable. The odd pubic hair lined the ceramic. Spots of red stuff could be removed with a thorough scrub.

The gents layout was the mirror opposite to the ladies in every respect. Six basins, six cubicles, six urinals.

The sixth urinal at the end of the bank was knee-height for visitors who were of a certain age or disposition. The cubicles sat right next to them.

The first five were like the basins. Acceptable.

Willy knew that the sixth cubicle was problematic and kept it locked from the outside. Some comedian had barged past Willy as he was locking up for the night yesterday. He claimed it was a life or death situation.

Willy remembered looking at his watch and suggesting he try elsewhere. The cinema on the same level had facilities available, but the gentleman wouldn’t hear of it.

He barged past and helped himself to the cubicle furthest away and let rip.

In retrospect, Willy forgave the man his ill-founded behavior. After all, no-one wants to inconvenience the staff for the sake of a joke. Judging by the sound of turmoil coming from the cubicle, it seemed that the urgency was genuine.

After the man emptied his bowels and ran off, Willy had a cursory glance of the contents of the bowl. He wasn’t curious as to what had happened. A simple check that everything was in order needed to happen. Once that was over, he could lock up for the night.

It wasn’t what he’d hoped for, though.

The sixth cubicle contained what could best be described as a chocolate-coated Pop Tart smothered mayonnaise - and that was after the visitor’s twice-failed attempt to flush the bastard down.

The last thing anyone needed.

This morning - some fifteen hours post-incident - the offending turd was still living the high life within the bowl.

The consistency of the s**t had of course subdued. The red and dark brown and congealed together and formed a sort of repugnant tarred puss.

That was sort of the idea, though. If it could break down, then it’d be easier to shift.

Willy yanked down on the flush and stood back, arms folded, and watch the toilet guzzle down the turd.

The water swirled and bubbled over it as the powerful flush did its thing. Once the foam spread away, the damned fecal matter was still bobbing in the water.

Willy tutted and hit the flush once again. This time, slightly less powerful on account of the cistern not filling up as it should.

And, once again, the foamy bubbles sheathed the magic trick.

But it didn’t do the job. The turd bobbed up and down to its own sanctimonious fanfare. You’ll never beat me, its body shape threatened.

Willy slammed the lid down in anger and shook his head.

A few moments later, the sixth cubicle was locked. A sign saying "out of order” plastered to the door. This was going to be a job for Willy when the place was less busy.

One cubicle down? Big deal. It was early days yet, and Willy had one or two tricks up his sleeve - or, more specifically, in his stock cupboard - that he could play on the insistent s**t if push came to shove.

For now, at around 9:30 am, the mall was in full swing. Because the shops were busy this meant that Willy was busy, too.

As he scratched off the ceramic on the basin, a man stood up at the urinal and took his p***s.

Of course, Willy didn’t see it. He knew what was happening by the man’s action. It sounds somewhat facile to say that Willy had guessed what the man was doing. Upwards of around two hundred men would be doing the same thing during the course of the day.

Something didn’t seem right with this guy, though. Willy looked up and stop scratching the basin. He peered into the mirror, looking over his own shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah. Here we come," the man shifted his hips and removed himself out of his zipper, "Yeah. Oooh."

Willy squinted and moved his head into the mirror. A bit too close. The man relieving himself faced away as he began to empty his bladder.

Then, a long streak of dark, yellow water hit the air freshener cake, "Awww, yes. Yeah, that’s good. That’s good."

Willy ducked his head and breathed a sigh of relief. The constant stream of urine was a great source of comfort. For a split second, it seemed as if the man might have been doing something else.