Janitorial Work

Where there was usually $100 for cleaning, hours, and supplies, today Jimminy found $12,000.  It wasn't a completely uncommon occurrence, but he wished it was.  He sighed and dropped the mop back in its bucket.  The dirty water sloshed up over the edge back onto the floor.  It was a marked improvement on the situation.

He used the mop as a steering and or pushing device for the bucket.

"Goddamn it" he cursed as the mop bucket, fell over sideways and gushed grimy water back onto Jimminy's work boots.  You wouldn't think someone his size could look so dainty as he tiptoed over the mucky water towards the bathroom.

There were three urinals.  The ones that sink all the way down onto the ground.  Clearly designed by someone who felt men were peeing on the floor too little.  The urinal cakes were a little over used, but somehow he doubted that was the reason for his tip.  His bonus.

To the right of the urinal was a handicapped stall.  Not that it could fit a person with crutches, or a wheel chair, but the stall itself had been in a serious accident.  The door had to be held closed by hand the entire time someone was using it.  Or they had to fix their face with the meanest look they could muster.  One that implied pushing into this stall at this time, while not the gravest of errors, would be regrettable indeed..

The stall next to it wasn't so blessed with gifts, such as a door, or an actual toilet.  There was a hole in the ground and exposed piping.  It wasn't a great place, or a subtle place, or even an acceptable, "Oh no what on earth have I done, I should get out of here quick" backup place to hide a dead body, but apparently that didn't stop someone from trying.

It was this scene that Jimminy walked in on.  Two bullets in the wall, with blood splattered around them, and then a racing stripe of blood painted from a spot two feet from the wall, to where the body was dragged and rolled into the center stall.

There was also blood on the sink faucet, which someone had struck repeatedly.  But no blood clogged the drain.  These motion sensor contraptions did everything in their power to turn on only when someone had left the bathroom, having given up in frustration.

Jimminy, with large blue rubber gloves, began to tidy up the situation.  Removing bloodstains from the wall, the floor, and anywhere else they managed to get.

Into a large black trash bag, bits and pieces of clothing, bullets, or flesh were tossed. When the bag was full it was tied up and put in a pile to be removed later.

The tricky part wasn't cleaning up the body, or the gore.  The tricky part was walking out of a bathroom with a lumpy odoriferous trash bag, but Jimminy, ever clever, always had an answer ready, that would amuse, horrify, and deflect any would be inquirer.

"Shit happens" he would grimly state, shake his head, and sadly saunter off towards the dumpster around back.