Morning all. We hope you had a great Bank Holiday and enjoyed the wonderful weather. Today, we are back to normal as rain pelts our heads and work pulls us back to pay slips and pledges of dedication and familiar focus. Clearly some of us enjoy employment, but for those of you don’t, here’s something to help the minutes fade away. This is the next short story written by Tomek Dzido based on the chosen title, ‘Needle in the Staff Toilet’. It’s a good’un. Like Jack Burton back in China. What the hell.
Needle in the Staff Toilet
by Tomek Dzido
‘Ra-Ra Rasputin, lover of a Russian Queen.’ I just about get to the toilet before my arse explodes and Boney M break into their final chorus. As soon as I sit down my insides blast out and all I can do is grab at the walls and hope to find some stability. This is fucked up. I try to think of what it was I might have eaten last night, but all I can remember is the beer. I can’t even remember where the fuck it was I was drinking. I know it wasn’t at home cause I woke up at some birds house and it wasn’t until I gathered some kind’ve focus that I realised how unwelcome I was. She said something about pissing on a cupboard but I couldn’t understand what she was on about. I don’t know why she would’ve pissed on a cupboard. That’s just ridiculous. Mind you, she did look like a crazy bitch. She even tried hitting me on the head with a wooden spoon. Luckily enough I managed to grab it off her, just before I punched her in the face. At least I think it was her face.
My arse lets out another stream of shit and I remember that film with Steven Segal where he’s under siege and that bird from Baywatch pops out of a cake with her tits all hanging out. I have no idea why I remember that. The only thing that ever popped out of one of my cakes was Bernstein, and he was something else entirely. In fact, I don’t even know who he was. Come to think of it, it wasn’t even my birthday. I think it was my Christening and Bernstein was my priest. At least I think he was a priest. Or maybe he just liked wine and children. I lean over and let it all stream out. There was a time when I wouldn’t have minded sitting in a shitter and shitting, but I’m at work and I should be working. But working at what? I don’t remember ever having a job.
I stare down at the floor and notice something strange. It looks like someone’s feet but I lean over and realise they’re my own. Something’s not right. The angles are all wrong. I look around. Fuck. I’m shitting in the urinal. I’ve also pissed into the sink on the other side of the toilet. That kind’ve impresses me until I realise there’s a guy there and I’ve pissed all over him too. Why didn’t he say anything? He must’ve felt it. What a dick. Oh, right, that’s me. I wave. Yep. That’s me. My butt cheeks are wet and I suddenly feel concerned that I’m sitting in my own shit. This strikes me as a bit of a problem. Not for me, but in case someone else comes into the toilet. They might start asking me questions and I might get nervous and let loose again. I have to move. The cubicle is directly in front of me so I grab at my ankles for my jeans and waddle over into the cubicle and lock the door. I sit down and wish I had something to drink. I need a cigarette.
I sit there for a couple of minutes trying to decide whether to smoke until I hear the door open.
‘What the fuck! What the fuck is this?’
‘There’s shit everywhere!’
I’m not sure if they I know I’m in the toilet so I decide not to light a cigarette.
‘Who’s in there?’ Bollocks. They knock on the door. ‘Who’s in there? Is that you Neil?’
John Travolta comes through the speakers singing about wanting something and I’m not sure I understand what it is. I think it’s got something to do with shaping a cock, but it could be a nut.
‘Neil? Is that you?’
I have no idea who Neil is. I wonder if perhaps he pissed on the cupboard. I can see the shadow of the guy on the other side of the door. He doesn’t move and neither do I. I have to say something. Anything. ‘Er, yes, it is I.’
‘What the hell happened out here?’
‘I don’t know. What happened?’
‘There’s shit everywhere. ‘
‘Yes. Shit, that’s what I just said.’
‘That’s terrible. There’s shit in here too.’
‘Esmerelda won’t be happy.’
Who the fuck is Esmerelda? What the fuck is going on? Where the am I? I remember it was a relatively sunny day. There were people around. There was crying. Tears and shit. What am I gonna do? This guy is waiting for me to say or do something. I fart.
‘Sorry. You’ve caught me at a bad time.’
‘You sound different.’
I can’t remember what I used to sound like. I think it was a little like Lloyd Grossman looking through a peep hole. Peepy Peepy. I think about that hangover film and wish the bearded dude was my friend. Him and his little monkey would be able to help me out. Them and the little Chinese guy with the tiny penis. I wish they were my friends. Maybe they are my friends and that’s why I’m in this fucking mess. My mess.
‘Are you all right?’ The bloke asks. I have no idea how to answer. I drop a turd. ‘Did you hear something?’
I listen. All I can hear is him. I want to be alone. Whatever happened to your love? I wish I understood. I can’t hear no fucking SOS. This is bullshit. I wish I understood. I stare at my arm and notice a needle. A fucking needle. A sewing needle. In my arm. I’ve got a massive gash running down my forearm and it looks like I’ve tried stitching myself back together. ‘There’s…there’s…’
I panic. I shit. ‘There’s a…’
‘There’s a fucking needle in my arm.’
‘This is Needle Neil’s. Dipshit.’