Disgruntled Janitor's Flash Fiction

2020-02-09T03:21:00.006-05:00

I have mastered my Janitorial skills, but I am cutting myself short. For now I am the Disgruntled Janitor, a.k.a. DJ. Welcome to my world.

Tunnel Vision

2010-02-09T04:57:00.002-05:00

The sun slowly completes its rise illuminating the restaurant. In one increment, the striking mechanism hits 12. The clock starts to spin out of control. Customers at the drive thru start honking their horns. Cars twist around the restaurant as if to constrict it. I clock in.

Two people call in sick, leaving me alone to cover the drive thru window. To top it off the manager is incompetent, tripping over her own shoelaces as she spills coffee beans all over the floor. I swallow my pride as I am being verbally assaulted by aggravated customers, as I daydream about my daughter’s laughter. I’m working for minimum wage, but today is that day in the month, again, to prove to myself that I am a man of my words.

The restaurant is getting bum rushed with orders. My ability to distribute food accurately becomes questionable. I go from a relaxed state to being bogged down by intense stress. My heart rate increases, my head aches, I am getting dizzy, triggering the phenomenon that is about to materialize.

The computer goes haywire and shuts down. All of a sudden, my world goes into slow motion. I enter tunnel vision, a hollow sound echoes in my ears, as voices slur, and vision blurs, I try to scream for assistance, but my shortness of breath only delivers a murmur like my baby girl.

It is now fight or flight. Fighting means I can pay child support and buy a new baby stroller. But I have an alibi to relieve myself of my duties and go home early. I choose to flee, but my legs are frozen in to the tiles.

Looking left to right causes trails that follow the objects and people. My customer’s mouth is sluggishly constricting in and out like a fish. I can only hear drowning noises coming from his vocal chords. Intense rays of light hit my eyes like the first thing my baby girl saw upon birth. I squint to try to focus. The event gradually subsides. I zoom in to the end of the circular tunnel, eyes refocus, and my manager says: “Are you alright?” I snap out of it for a second wind, syncing myself back to reality and nodding my head in reply. My legs are no longer frozen. I choose to stand my ground.

The computer is back online. My world returns in a flash. I am given my last orders for the day. Customers zoom in and out of the doors, with predictable routes, leaving streaks of shoe prints behind for me to mop. Later I proudly complete my final task, observing the shiny floors as the water condenses into the tiles. I clock out, grateful to have completed my duty today.

In relief that my shift is over, I jump into my car, and head home. I step on the pedal and cruise at the speed limit. At the sign, I responsibly make a complete stop and look both ways, before accelerating again. I smile, as the restaurant smoothly shrinks into the horizon in my rear view mirror.

The Panhandler

2010-02-08T22:14:00.009-05:00

Why would I resort to this? Vehicles zoom down the highway to exit. I’m standing on the median wearing casual clothing. This is dangerous. Before the light turns green, I have to limp out of the way or I might get run over. I swallow my pride, using my cane to support my feet, I wobble my way up to cars, as I courteously greet people. Drivers roll down the window and dump coins and dollars in as I grin and thank them. The traffic light turns yellow and I limp out of the way. After a hard day’s work I run in to my friend.

He just finished dropping off bags of aluminum cans to the recycling center. He tells me about a hidden tunnel I can stay in.

I enter a crack in the wall, the light starts to fade away as I enter the underground and exit the surface. About fifty feet in to the darkness, I inhale the stench of sewage waste. It is completely dark as I turn on my flash light and there are rusty train tracks. Rats that huddle together making noises as they run in to a shelter made of metal. There are lights ahead as I walk closer a whole community is revealed, block after block of homemade buildings made of metal and wood stretch for what seems like miles. An underground abandoned subway tunnel, turned in to a city.

I find an empty space and set down all my belongings, metal, wood, nails, hammer, and clothes. I start to assemble my house by nailing a wood foundation and pieces of metal for shelter. I sit in my homemade shelter satisfied that I am amongst similar people. I start to explore my environment, one guy’s shaving, a couple people smoking crack, others assembling shelters, watching tv and reading. It was endless.

I start to get comfortable, hey, it’s not so bad down here there’s electricity and water. I turn on my light bulb as I read a book and fall asleep. Little did I know there is a raid, police in SWAT uniform and M16s pour in to the crack like pouring soup, everyone is running in sporadic directions. The loudspeaker announced “Everyone must vacate the tunnel!” “Do not resist or you will be shot!” I run with the vagrants through the back crack in the wall.

As I get closer to the crack in the wall, the lights start fading in as I exit from the underground and in to the surface. I resume my daily activities.

The sweat on my shirt has dried, feeling refreshed, I shake my jar. My cane wobbles as I pick up two dollars. It is prime time in this hot spot. People sympathize with my floppy legs and drop up to five dollars in to my jar.

Satisfied with all my hard work, I reward myself with a meal at Mcdonalds. In the bathroom I use wet napkins and soap to clean up some.

I stumble down a hill. No one sees me. I take off my prosthetic leg and drive home to my wife and kids. I just needed another break.

The Bank Robbery

2010-02-05T15:52:00.004-05:00

The stopwatch meticulously tics as I case the bank from my vehicle. The regulars walk in and out with predictable timing. It is 5:10pm; Susan the bank teller is late. I get out of my car and enter the bank. There are cameras in all corners of the building. Four teller windows with bullet proof glass. Susan says: “How may I help you today?”

“I want to create an account.” I fill out the paperwork and display my credentials. “I would like to make a deposit.” I slide the cash in to the slit. I notice the manager of the bank close his door to his office making a clinking sound from the keys tied to his waist. She slips me the receipt as the cameras behind the window rotates. The sign FDIC comes to my attention.

My wife screams: “Tony! I am so done with you, a man is suppose to pay the bills, how are we going to raise our baby?"

I am cruising two cars away from the red armored truck. There is a gun port on each side of the hefty vehicle. On Thursdays the tank like vehicle takes a different route than usual. It arrives at the back entrance where there are two armed guards with shotguns. They toss bags of money to each other in to the metal room with a titanium door. I look at my watch. It took fifteen minutes to get here from the warehouse. This is the perfect time to hit but it is risky, the scenario can go sour resulting in a shoot-out. I do not intend to kill anybody.

My wife is angry at me again. “Tony! What have you been up to all day?” “I’m afraid that you might get hurt. “

I enter the bank to withdraw. Susan slides me the bills. The manager is talking to someone, with the shiny keys on his waist. I listen in with my hearing aid. The voices are amplified as my ear canal receives the voices. They are talking about receiving a load of cash, next Thursday, late afternoon. The armored truck makes two left turns passing the supermarket on that day, arriving around four pm.

I slap my forehead. I forgot to pick up milk and bread.

The exit to the highway is two stop lights away. I open the yellow pages and found the address to the closet police department. I drive over to the address. The response time is roughly twenty minutes to the bank. This town needs to be rezoned.

“Tony! We need to move to a smaller house, I can’t take care of the up keep myself!”

The weather tomorrow is sunny and then in the late afternoon there are heavy showers. They are now using the new model impalas. I go to the car dealership and speak to the sales man about the speed at which the Impala drives.

My wife angrily washes the dishes, “You Deadbeat! We are about to lose our car!”

It is Thursday, Approximately 5 PM. The sun illuminates the gray bank. We wear suits and ties with a Kevlar Vest underneath. We cock our nine millimeter hand guns and conceal it. We sync our watches as we walk calmly to the bank as we always have for the past year. Eight feet away from the bank we pull down our ski masks and draw our handguns. The urban landscape fades away as we squeeze in to the bank. The camera immediately zones in on us while the time elapses.

I jump on to the counter. “You all know what this is!” As I aim at the regulars and manager, everyone shrieks. “Everyone on the floor Now!” “Close your eyes and this will be over with!” I go up to the manager. “Open the vault Now!” He complies as I notice him quivering as he presses a button under the desk triggering the alarm. A loud repeating bell goes off piercing in to our ears. We have roughly twenty minutes before we are surrounded by cops.

The two of us go in to the vault, open our bags and the both of us start filling up the bags with stacks of cash. I shout: "Two Minutes!" The last guy is out in the main area of the bank calming everyone down. Susan is crying. He shouts "Three Minutes!" “Do not force us to kill you, stay calm before you know it you will be with your loved ones!” “Take deep breaths!” "You are FDIC insured! You will not lose any of your money!” He shouts: "Four Minutes!" My iron sites follow Susan as she runs for the door. I lower my weapon.

As we walk out the camera follows us. The urban landscape fades in as we cluster out the door. There is a crash of lightening that spread across the sky like the veins on our wrists. It starts to rain. Our watches display "Five minutes, three seconds" a new record.

We jump in to the car with our duffel bags. The driver drives at the speed limit. We take off our masks and smile, not saying a word. We exit on to the highway. Twenty miles away, in a remote location, we dump the car without closing the doors and jump in to another car and drive off.

My wife is shocked that I came home early for once. She kisses me and makes me dinner. We make love that night for the first time in months. The next morning I put on my suit and tie.

She turns on the TV: "A string of bank robberies have hit the Tri State area. There are no leads."

I leave the house to go to work, knowing that I am doing what I do best. I drop my wallet and it flies open hitting the floor spreading open, as the shield shines, displaying Special Agent Tony FBI, Bank Robbery Task Force Division.

Traffic

2010-01-31T00:00:00.005-05:00

I slap my left and right cheeks; I know better than to snort this brownish powder and hit the pipe at the same time. But I do it anyway, I roll up a bill and aim the end to the line and SHHHH as every little pixel is sniffed. My body feels heavy and I nod forward in ecstasy.

I tilt my head back, put the straight pipe to my lips and light the end. The white rock crackles as it melts. The white smoke smoothly enters my lungs. Wosh! Head rush, I hear waves of sound. Ring ring ring! I lay back lazily in euphoria on my seat. I grind my teeth as my legs shake with rapid eye movement zoning in on every object in the room.

All my worries go away. My pregnant ex girlfriend, the exam next week, working tomorrow, violating probation and the smoke all go out the window.

I decline from my high, reality sets in. Frantically, I jump into my car and yield as I enter the highway, soon concentrating on the green sign displaying Baltimore. Forty five minutes later, I arrive in the inner city, an open air drug market. All the grass and trees of my world replaced with concrete and gray buildings matching the color of the cloudy sky.

People wander the streets as if it’s a third world country. The hopeless urban landscape consists of public housing projects with boarded up windows, abandoned neighborhoods with graffiti criss crossing all over bricks, block after block of vacant decaying row houses, busted up cars, and crooked streets littered with trash and paraphernalia. Traffic lights, one ways, U-turns, four way streets confuse me as I traverse this tightly built maze. I cruise around, searching corners for distributors congregating in this high intensity drug trafficking area. I constantly check my mirrors and windows for police patrolling. Flashing Blue and Red lights indicate a free pass to central booking for possession.

The English language becomes simplified. Crews yell out YO and wave at me. I crank down my window, allowing exhaust in, and announce: “Four Ready!” I park to the side ahead a block. The crew splits in different directions like a mirv and post in every corner of the two way street, closing both distributor and customer in, all observing for the dreaded Impala, ready to scream 5-O to give us a heads up.

A man calmly approaches my window to wonder if I am a Narc. “Are you police?” “No, Four Ready!” Trusting his gut instinct he walks quickly into a narrow dark alley. He returns to the car, drops 4 glass vials with blue tops filled with clusters of rocks, into my left hand as he pulls the folded bills from my right. The entire crew scatters in different directions as I drive off slowly blending in with traffic.

Unsatisfied, as Dope goes hand in hand with Ready, I drive to another block and yell out “Four Dopes!” This time the man trusts me and disappears into a dilapidated public housing complex. He returns with four capsules filled with brownish powder and we swap as a police officer on foot pretends he didn’t see the transaction.

With products in hand, I return to my world. Grass and trees appear as the clouds disappear revealing the sun. I take a ramp back on the highway exiting the drug capital of the United States. I am done playing cat and mouse with the cops. It has only been fifteen minutes, a new record. I wonder why it seemed like an hour.

I'm headed home satisfied yet worried about my irresponsible lifestyle.

Then REW, REW right behind me. Eight blue and red light orbs spinning and flashing. What do you know? It's an Impala.