The Janitor

One day I shall have my revenge, and I feel that today, Tuesday, shall be that day. Today is the day that bastard eats the most. I know his schedule thanks to the consistency of his droppings, the colours stuck to the porcelain and the reckless use of toilet paper.

My name is Fermín and I’m the one who cleans the toilets in this shopping mall of renown that belongs to the upper classes in the capital of Mexico.

I have the honour of cleaning the shit of the most reputable surnames, of the most beautiful people, and, to be honest, it’s a fib that saying about them being able to “shit money or golden eggs”. They shitthe same as us, the ones that make a living cleaning their toilets: shit, and a lot of it.

As any other human being (just because I clean toilets doesn’t mean I’m not one), I have a nemesis, my horrible archenemy is a fat, tall, pink cheeked, well dressed man. He just needs to arrive to the bathrooms in an equally fat horse to complete the whole Botero-esque image. Again, don’t be surprised: just because I’m the toilet guy doesn’t mean I know nought about paintings. Believe me; I know more about colour mixing than some well trained painters.

You might wonder why is this man my nemesis. Easy, every time he goes into any of my bathrooms, he clogs them in such a grotesque way that there is no simple tool in existence to clear it up. Most of the times I end up doing some sort of extreme snorkelling, the one that requires gloves so resistant that they haven’t been invented.

Sometimes I do believe this character enters the toilet in an invisible horse and he’s the one producing this ungodly quantity of manure.

But just like I said, I think today will be the perfect day for my revenge. It’s the day the oriental buffet is half price for supper and he surely will come by to engorge as usual. I shall guide him like a kid to a candy store, making sure he is the last one in the bathroom. I will turn the lights off and lock the doors. What waits in will be a small slice of hell. I don’t care if I lose my job; it will be worth it, I will have my little moment of “take that, society!”

I see him arrive at 7:50 PM to “The Great Wall”, that shithole of rat dumplings, battered cockroaches and dipped snails. He is alone, as always. I watch him. At 9:20 PM, he finishes his last plate, his eight. With a fast walk, as fast as this fat slob can, he rushes to the toilets.

Everyone that tried to come in, I turn away, except him. I hear him lock himself in one of the stalls and his Dantesque cacophony starts.  According to plan, I block the door to his stall (God, it stinks so bad!), then the main door with the master key. I turn off all lights from outside. He doesn’t notices as he is really busy expelling from his body all broccoli, pig, chicken, dumplings, rats, cockroaches, battered snails-passing-as-shrimp, rice, egg-drop soup…

It isn’t long enough until I start to hear the screams. “I can’t open the door! There’s no tp! Help, please, the toilet is blocked! Oh, God, it’s overflowing! It’s getting in my shoes and pants! God, help me! It reeks!” Before walking away, I listen to him retching uncontrollably. I throw the key in one of the fountains, so it blends with the coins drowned in it. I walk away, smiling.

My name is Fermín, the janitor, and from tomorrow on, I’ll be Fermín, the painter.

Words: Homo Rodans

Translation: —Sam

About the author: This guy is the same one who made “Desherir”, one of the sweetest songs ever. I fear him.