| Short Story |
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You’d Better Hide It
By Constance Lang
“It’s a crappy job, but somebody’s got to do it”. If he had a dime for every
time he heard that line, Jerry knew he’d still be broke, but what he’d like
even more, was to be able to sucker punch anyone who said it. He stared
blankly at the man leaving the outhouse. The guy offered a weak smile to
go along with his weak crappy job comment and finally got the hell out of
Jerry’s way. Jerry grabbed his cleaning bucket, his shit - stained mop and
headed inside the tiny building. He set his bucket full of cleaning stuff and
toilet paper on the floor just inside the door and breathed deep. He was
glad he was used to the smell and smiled to himself. At least most visitors
didn’t want to remain in here long enough to do much damage.
He actually liked his job when you got right down to it. He discovered all
sorts of shit (pardon the pun) inside. Another smile appeared and as it
spread across his well lined face, he actually appeared to be grimacing. He
surveyed the room. Sometimes, he could tell who had been here, just by
the mess left behind. He was amazed at the amount of head given in a
public toilet. And this wasn’t even a toilet really, just a damn hole in the
ground. He figured you’d have to be pretty damn hard up to get a BJ in an
outhouse. Hell, he hoped he was never that desperate. As it was, he was
going through a dry spell, but at his age (52), he figured that was okay for a
while. Titty bars and the internet were enough to keep him occupied until
something he could touch (besides himself) came his way.
He donned his rubber gloves from his back pocket and picked up the
three used condoms left on the floor. He peeked in the toilet hole and then
tossed them down. He had to peak to see what he was throwing them on
top of. He couldn’t help it. He knew it was silly, superstitious behavior on
his part. And, really the only time it bothered him was when he was training
some new guy. Then, the questions and comments would start.
“What the hell do you think you’re gonna see down there, dude?”
“Man, I don’t care what’s floatin’ I ain’t lookin’”
“Dude, what are you afraid of – some huge turd monster jumpin’ out
atcha?”
That last guy he almost did sucker punch. Instead he laughed it off and
tried to get the guy trained as quickly as possible. Not that there was much
to cleaning shit houses – there wasn’t, but that wasn’t all he did working for
the County. It just happened to be the best part. Now, he was finally off
training duties for what he considered permanently. With all the County
budget cuts, he really didn’t think they’d be hiring any more ‘dudes’ for a
long time, and that suited him just fine.
Jerry finished picking a few pieces of toilet paper and candy wrappers
(who the hell eats on the pot?) up off the floor. He turned to wipe down the
tiny polished metal mirror and he felt it. Son-of-a-bitch! He was hoping
today would be quiet. He wondered if it really mattered what the hell he ate,
since it always crept up on him when he didn’t want it to. He finished
cleaning the mirror and made it to the toilet just in time. He glanced down
the hole as he dropped his drawers and plopped down on the seat. Getting
old sucked in his opinion. He couldn’t even make it a goddamned day
without racing to the pot. He felt a small explosion come from his ass-end
and sighed with relief. He felt another rumble coming on when he heard it.
The tune (he was quite sure it was a tune) started as a low humming and
gradually increased in intensity until Jerry was sure he could almost make
out some of the words to a song. He wondered briefly who the hell was
singing on the two-way radio out in the truck. Then, it struck him that he
probably wouldn’t be able to hear the radio all the way in here. The tune
became louder and now he was sure it was a melody. It sounded vaguely
familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“It’s occupied!” he hollered to whoever was outside, humming. The sound
continued.
“I’ll be done shortly, just hold your britches!”
The tune continued and seemed to get louder.
“Can’t a man shit in peace?” he yelled.
He finally finished and grabbed for the toilet paper. Shit! What a day he
was having! The roll was empty and the new one sit atop the cleaning
bucket left by the door. He wiggled his ass to try to shake off any loose
ends and stretched out his arm for the T.P. He couldn’t quite grab it - of
course. His ass broke the seal on the seat as he leaned further toward the
door. The song was still playing and now he heard the words clearly.
“I see your hiney. It’s nice and shiny. You’d better hide it.”
What the hell? He knew that song. It was a kiddy rhyme. One they used
to sing at each other when they were at camp. At least he thought that was
where it was from. He was just too damn old to be playing these games.
“Get the hell out of here before I kick your ass! Better yet, come in here
and hand me the damn toilet paper!” He leaned forward a little more and
heard a small ‘plop’ as one final remnant made its way to the waste below.
The tune got louder.
“I see your hiney. It’s nice and shiny. You’d better hide it.”
With that last line, Jerry felt an immense pain on his ass. He tried to jump
up but was jerked back down onto the toilet seat. His hands scrambled for
something to hold onto as he felt himself being pulled down. He screamed
as whatever had him chewed and pulled, chewed and pulled. The last thing
he heard long after his voice gave out from screaming and his body
collapsed from shock, was that damned song.
“I see your hiney. It’s nice and shiny. You’d better hide it. Before I bite
it.”
By Constance Lang
“It’s a crappy job, but somebody’s got to do it”. If he had a dime for every
time he heard that line, Jerry knew he’d still be broke, but what he’d like
even more, was to be able to sucker punch anyone who said it. He stared
blankly at the man leaving the outhouse. The guy offered a weak smile to
go along with his weak crappy job comment and finally got the hell out of
Jerry’s way. Jerry grabbed his cleaning bucket, his shit - stained mop and
headed inside the tiny building. He set his bucket full of cleaning stuff and
toilet paper on the floor just inside the door and breathed deep. He was
glad he was used to the smell and smiled to himself. At least most visitors
didn’t want to remain in here long enough to do much damage.
He actually liked his job when you got right down to it. He discovered all
sorts of shit (pardon the pun) inside. Another smile appeared and as it
spread across his well lined face, he actually appeared to be grimacing. He
surveyed the room. Sometimes, he could tell who had been here, just by
the mess left behind. He was amazed at the amount of head given in a
public toilet. And this wasn’t even a toilet really, just a damn hole in the
ground. He figured you’d have to be pretty damn hard up to get a BJ in an
outhouse. Hell, he hoped he was never that desperate. As it was, he was
going through a dry spell, but at his age (52), he figured that was okay for a
while. Titty bars and the internet were enough to keep him occupied until
something he could touch (besides himself) came his way.
He donned his rubber gloves from his back pocket and picked up the
three used condoms left on the floor. He peeked in the toilet hole and then
tossed them down. He had to peak to see what he was throwing them on
top of. He couldn’t help it. He knew it was silly, superstitious behavior on
his part. And, really the only time it bothered him was when he was training
some new guy. Then, the questions and comments would start.
“What the hell do you think you’re gonna see down there, dude?”
“Man, I don’t care what’s floatin’ I ain’t lookin’”
“Dude, what are you afraid of – some huge turd monster jumpin’ out
atcha?”
That last guy he almost did sucker punch. Instead he laughed it off and
tried to get the guy trained as quickly as possible. Not that there was much
to cleaning shit houses – there wasn’t, but that wasn’t all he did working for
the County. It just happened to be the best part. Now, he was finally off
training duties for what he considered permanently. With all the County
budget cuts, he really didn’t think they’d be hiring any more ‘dudes’ for a
long time, and that suited him just fine.
Jerry finished picking a few pieces of toilet paper and candy wrappers
(who the hell eats on the pot?) up off the floor. He turned to wipe down the
tiny polished metal mirror and he felt it. Son-of-a-bitch! He was hoping
today would be quiet. He wondered if it really mattered what the hell he ate,
since it always crept up on him when he didn’t want it to. He finished
cleaning the mirror and made it to the toilet just in time. He glanced down
the hole as he dropped his drawers and plopped down on the seat. Getting
old sucked in his opinion. He couldn’t even make it a goddamned day
without racing to the pot. He felt a small explosion come from his ass-end
and sighed with relief. He felt another rumble coming on when he heard it.
The tune (he was quite sure it was a tune) started as a low humming and
gradually increased in intensity until Jerry was sure he could almost make
out some of the words to a song. He wondered briefly who the hell was
singing on the two-way radio out in the truck. Then, it struck him that he
probably wouldn’t be able to hear the radio all the way in here. The tune
became louder and now he was sure it was a melody. It sounded vaguely
familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“It’s occupied!” he hollered to whoever was outside, humming. The sound
continued.
“I’ll be done shortly, just hold your britches!”
The tune continued and seemed to get louder.
“Can’t a man shit in peace?” he yelled.
He finally finished and grabbed for the toilet paper. Shit! What a day he
was having! The roll was empty and the new one sit atop the cleaning
bucket left by the door. He wiggled his ass to try to shake off any loose
ends and stretched out his arm for the T.P. He couldn’t quite grab it - of
course. His ass broke the seal on the seat as he leaned further toward the
door. The song was still playing and now he heard the words clearly.
“I see your hiney. It’s nice and shiny. You’d better hide it.”
What the hell? He knew that song. It was a kiddy rhyme. One they used
to sing at each other when they were at camp. At least he thought that was
where it was from. He was just too damn old to be playing these games.
“Get the hell out of here before I kick your ass! Better yet, come in here
and hand me the damn toilet paper!” He leaned forward a little more and
heard a small ‘plop’ as one final remnant made its way to the waste below.
The tune got louder.
“I see your hiney. It’s nice and shiny. You’d better hide it.”
With that last line, Jerry felt an immense pain on his ass. He tried to jump
up but was jerked back down onto the toilet seat. His hands scrambled for
something to hold onto as he felt himself being pulled down. He screamed
as whatever had him chewed and pulled, chewed and pulled. The last thing
he heard long after his voice gave out from screaming and his body
collapsed from shock, was that damned song.
“I see your hiney. It’s nice and shiny. You’d better hide it. Before I bite
it.”
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