Burning White Hot
Mike Reynolds loved sausages. He didn’t like all sausages, but he did like the Irish recipe ones from his local supermarket.
At 5.04pm he finished work and turned off the fan on his desk he’d been using to keep himself cool in the August heat. It had been a hot day. What hadn’t really helped matters was his upset stomach. He’d undone the nickel buckle on his belt to relieve the discomfort but it hadn’t helped none. He’d been rushing to the toilet all day and all because the previous night he hadn’t cooked his favourite sausages enough.
His work colleagues had laughed at his mad dashes for the loo and jokily offered to put the toilet paper in the refrigerator for him. He’d laughed it off, but he felt slightly embarrassed at his situation. They hadn’t made it any easier for him.
“Phew – my bloody misses!” he’d say.
And they’d laugh.
But what he’d been thinking is that he wished he’d taken the day off.
It seemed like every half-hour the cramps in his gut would grab him and he knew he only had a short time to dash through the open-plan, into the coffee room and to the back corridor where the Gents were.
Thank God the day had finally come to an end.
At 5.19pm he was in the train station. He called his wife on his mobile and told her about his rotten day.
“Have a glass of Andrews when you get home,” she laughed.
He laughed too and looked at his watch.
His stomach turned. He felt the cramps. He paused for a moment, hoping it would subside, hoping it would hold off until he got home. Then his belly gripped again. Damn, he thought to himself. Damn, he thought, damn, damn, damn.
The train came in to the station at 5.21pm. It was meant to be a 35-minute ride home. Departure time was 5.39pm. With a tense stomach, he urged the train to a stop so he could relieve himself. His stomach gave another spasm and he knew he needed the toilet desperately.
The train inched slowly into the station, barely moving, just creeping to the buffer. Mike panicked. Impatiently, he walked up to the train, ready to open the door and make for the rancid toilet as quick as he could. When the train finally stopped he hastily opened the door but as he did so he felt his stomach wince and his bowel empty itself, soiling his underwear. This was exactly what he did not want to happen.
He’d not fouled himself since he was a little child. He could feel the warm excrement spread around his buttocks and he felt truly miserable and truly humiliated at what had happened.
But it was still only 5.23pm. He had a quarter hour until the train left. He carefully put his hand to his backside and he could feel the excrement had spread onto his trousers. He could hardly sit in the train in his condition, he realised.
However, he also realised there was a Baldocks store just outside the station. So, what he decided to do was this: go into the store, buy a pair of jeans, get back to the train, change and make the rest of the journey in comfort. That was what he decided upon.
“A pair of size 36 denims, please,” he asked the shop assistant.
The girl put the jeans in a carrier bag and he gave her the £19.99.
As he got back into the station he heard the announcer call out the departure for his train. Despite his predicament, he ran for the train and got to the carriage just as it began to pull out.
He’d made it.
He slammed the heavy door shut, clunk! and then went to find the toilet.
It was as filthy as could be expected. There was pale, yellowish shit all around the bowl and the toilet paper was that rough, spiteful stuff. What little of it there was. Mike tried to flush the loo but the flush had long since broken. He opened the toilet window and watched as the train pulled put of the station and started to pick up speed. It wasn’t an ideal situation to be in, but he was thankful he’d made it onto the train and could now change.
He took off his trousers and saw the large stain on the seat of them. Then he carefully took off his underpants and gagged a bit on the stench. He took out his jeans and put the ruined trousers and pants into the carrier bag and threw them out of the window, glad he wouldn’t have to see them again. And then, after cleaning himself, he went to pull on his new jeans. Only as he did so he found he’d been given a denim jacket by mistake.
He stood there, bottom-naked, looking at the window he’d thrown he’d trousers out of, looking at the denim jacket.