Anne Taylor looked at the notice on the door: 'OUT OF ORDER'. It had been there all morning and still there was no sign of activity. She pushed the door to the Ladies' open and shouted in. "Hello? Is anyone in here from Building Services?....Hello?....." The silence gave her the answer she needed. Right, that does it, she thought, and marched along the corridor back to her office.
She snatched up the phone and dialed four digits. "Hello? Is that Building Services?". The voice at the far end could sense trouble. As calmly as possible he said, "Yes, this is Bill Simpson here. Is that you Anne?". Anne bit her lip: she was in no mood for chatting. "Yes, and for the fourth time in as many weeks it's about the Ladies' toilets on the 6th floor. They've been 'out of order' all morning. Are you ever going to get round to fixing them?" There was a pause and a shuffling of papers. "But they're being looked at now, surely. Jim Bentley should be sorting the problem out. In fact, he's been on the job for the last hour and a half now. Are you sure they're not fixed yet?"
Anne's patience was wearing thin. "Of course I'm sure, I even went in. Not a sign of this Jim Bentley or anyone." Bill was chewing the end of his pencil. "Well he's probably nipped out for a fag. I'm sure he'll be back any moment, don't worry."
Anne hung up and ground her teeth together. She felt like she'd lost the argument and that she was still no further forward. Just then she had an idea. She decided to ring through to Reception and ask for a page to be put out on the PA. But first, she knew that she could hang on no longer, so she'd locked the door to her office and started to improvise. She'd already finished her strong black coffee, which she always drank from her cherished dark blue mug. She gazed down into the bottom of the empty mug. What choice did she have? A woman can't hold on all day......
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Jim Bentley was fast asleep. He'd only nipped into the smoking room for a quick fag, but somehow found himself having a quick forty winks. He'd been in there for over an hour. He awoke suddenly as the loudspeaker on the wall crackled into life. "Will Jim Bentley please go to Room 614 immediately. Jim Bentley to Room 614, please..." He rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. "Christ!" he said, and gathered the remains of his newspaper off the floor.
He tapped at the door and Anne answered from inside, "Come in! I take it YOU are Jim Bentley, from Building Services?" Jim nodded, "Yep! What's the problem, then?". His avuncular air and cheerful smile was only serving to annoy her even more. "Close the door and I'll tell you what the problem is, matey. The Ladies' toilets, that's what." Jim shuffled his feet and looked down at her, over the desk between them. Anne barked "Sit!", and Jim obediently dropped into the chair. She didn't really mean to make it sound like a command and he didn't really mean to obey so readily. It just happened. Anne was now gazing down at him slightly and now he felt at a disadvantage.
"Ah well, you see, missus, I've been on another job all morning. To tell you the truth it's only just been passed on to me. I just arrived on the sixth floor when I heard the page." Anne smiled. It always amused her when plumbers and workmen used the phrase 'to tell you the truth'. It always meant precisely the opposite. And this time she knew he was lying.
She uncrossed her legs, stood up and moved out from behind the desk. "Is that so? 'Just arrived' eh?" She picked up her mug and wandered over to where he was sitting. "'Just arrived'......hmmm.. ....." Jim was beginning to feel uneasy. He could sense she was up to something, but didn't have a clue what it was. She stood only a foot away from him and glowered down. The smell of cigarettes was rising from his boiler suit and his large clumsy-looking hands had the tell-tale markings of inkprint on them. "Well, Jim Bentley, I happen to know that you've been on this job nearly 90 minutes. You've been in the Smoking Room haven't you? Probably reading the paper. I've been speaking to your boss, you see. You haven't done a stroke of work all morning, have you?". Jim blushed, his mind desperately looking for an escape route. His mouth opened but nothing came out. They both knew she was right: he didn't have to say a word.
"I thought so. Well, perhaps you need some encouragement, something to motivate you to finish the job soon. Because, Jim Bentley, I just have a nagging feeling that because you're a man, you couldn't care less whether the Ladies' toilet is out of order. So let me remind you how important it is to get those toilets working, shall I?"
Anne leant forward, her ample chest almost pinning him to the chair. As she did so, she gradually tipped over the mug she was still holding in her hand. The liquid dribbled down the side and down onto Jim's boiler suit, into his groin. At first he wondered whether she was trying to scald him, but with a sense of relief he felt it was cold. Or at least, fairly cold. Although, frankly, it did feel slightly warm. With a combination of horror and understanding, it slowly began to dawn on him what was in the cup. She must have pissed into it and was now emptying the contents all over him. He could only stare down in disbelief as the last few drops fell from the now upturned mug.
Anne spoke. "Now, I feel very confident that the loo will be fixed within half an hour, Jim Bentley. I had a large bowl of All-Bran this morning and I usually need to move my bowels about this time". She stared deliberately at his now soaking boiler suit. A mental image flashed into Jim's mind: the thought repulsed him!
"Good", said Anne, "I think I make myself clear." Without saying a
word, Jim knew which job was now top priority. It was a race against
time. She'd already poured her piss over him and he knew she
- The End -
John Martin Stories