THE FORKIE PHILOSOPHER

A long time ago in a workplace locker-room not that far away…

This place had over a hundred employees, so the locker room was large. It was an L-shape that wrapped around the men’s toilets and showers. I only ever saw 5 or less women working on the floor at any time, plus I never ventured into the place where men dare not go. Needless to say, the female amenities were much smaller.

The lockers ran along the entire wall space of the bent room, with long benches spaced along the middle of the floor. The lockers were smaller than you might expect. Imagine the six-footer you often see; now divide it in two. Two separate lockers stacked on top of each other. Each employee was provided with one locker. How? You brought in your own lock and locked it. No name, no record kept…sounds sensible; if you work with virtuous gentlemen – hahahaha!

Who’s to say I don’t have four lockers? For the price of four locks, I can.

The most common trend I saw (I never found out who the innovator was) was simple and effective. Two locks and a few zip ties. If you move fast and find two empty lockers on top of one another, you now have your own double bunger.

“What do you need that for?” I hear you ask.

“Need? I don’t need it, although I’ll surely fill it up with shit quick enough.”

In a shitty job it seems people will do all kinds of odd things just to feel like they are getting one over on the company. Not to mention, a double locker is like a little status symbol; a little “yeah, I’m twice as clever than most”.

Beside the issue of keeping track of locker real estate portfolios, there was another snag that would become apparent after some time had passed. After a while the churn changes the lineup and fresh new faces replace the sapped one’s that jumped the wall. Did those deserters bother to vacate their locker? Who can tell how many of those unmarked metal boxes are secured by a lock whose key-holder has nothing to do with the joint anymore?

Which leads to the story I recently saw in a whole new light.

A few years into the life of this locker-room a foul smell began to become a permanent resident. Being that it was beside the toilets for a large number of men who, on average, had far from healthy lifestyles, a nasty stink was not an uncommon visitor. Difference being that this fucker lingered like the unwanted guest it was.

Everyone did their own inspecting, and the cleaners did all they could, but that offensive odour refused to vacate the premises. My theory was a spin on the old prawn head revenge prank where you hide those stinky suckers in your target’s car or residence and savour the idea of them going insane trying to find the source of the ever-worsening reek of decomposing crustacean noggins. I’m thinking “some disgruntled bastard has left a putrid little present behind for us to enjoy” – thanks cunt!

I cannot recall who the gifted gumshoe was, but the discovery was far uncannier (and disgusting) than my suggestion. Whether it was sheer frustration or Sherlock Holmes level deduction, someone moved the lockers away from the walls (they were in sections of a dozen or so). What they found was something more than a pungent practical-joke or mere vandalism…

Some poor tortured soul had taken the time to hatch this plan and then carry it out at the risk of getting caught fucking doing it!

Behind one section of lockers there was shit smeared all over the wall and the remaining stool sample, which was apparently in a plastic bag, was on the ground nearby! That is the work of a very demented mind there my friends. I suppose we should all be happy they didn’t come in one day and shoot the place up!

We will never know if it was human, dog or whatever excrement; no scientific testing was carried out. Was it one of the blokes, or maybe a stealthy female attack? Was the culprit long gone or still among us enjoying the fruits of their labour? Was it someone less obvious: a security guard or a cleaner? They would have plenty of opportunities to be alone in there uninterrupted.

If anyone was trying to pull this off during a shift they could be walked in on at any moment. It would require a lot of luck to poop, fish it out, move the locker…you get the filthy picture. Maybe they brought the dung form home; a kind of “here’s one we prepared earlier” type scenario. That way they only have to achieve the second half of the sabotage. Which leads to the animal droppings theory; will any poo do? That’s all academic in the end because the mystery was never solved.

I clearly remember my first reaction, once the repulsion wore off, was to think of an enraged prisoner with no other way to vent their loathing at the appalling conditions they are forced to endure. “How can I take this contempt inside me and inflict it on those bastards?”

In both scenarios (work or prison) physical violence may not be a viable option for any number of reasons and words alone could never express such seething hatred. In both scenarios mental illness would be considered the likely cause, and it was for our mysterious turd troll. Beside the usual labels: “dickhead”, “asshole”, “idiot”.

After many more years in similar employment and witnessing countless mini-meltdowns and adult tantrums, along with having a few of my own, I must admit that the prisoner metaphor rings much truer now. The feeling of being trapped with no way out; being treated unfairly and having your dignity slowly stripped away.

In a workplace scenario you are probably safe from getting shanked and while a smack in the head or proper bashing is possible, most people cannot afford to lose their job over such actions. Even a schoolyard (at least when my generation was young) offered a lesser penalty for delivering a knuckle sandwich, and a lot of these guys are the very ones who would have been fighting and mucking around instead of studying; hence the shitty job they find themselves in.

People do not use their words here. Not mindfully anyway. Abuse, profanity, insults and even threats are considered more effective. Yet you still have the same bully hierarchy with supervisors as the teachers or screws who can be just as bad and/or play favourites with subordinates of questionable character. All without a release valve.

Sure, you get to go home each day, but resentments can be like barnacles. You don’t notice the weight of them until a whole bunch are dug into your sides. They go home with you too; they affect your sleep, your overall enjoyment of life. Before you know it, you’re bringing a plastic bag into the toilet with you…

This is of course just my feeble attempt to understand the motive of our phantom faeces flinger. Which, to me at least, is about as close as you would like to get to a workplace shooter or suicide. On the other hand, it could actually be some sicko’s idea of a joke; which is also very worrying.

It is an extreme example, but the degradation exists for everyone involved in such a toxic work environment. You may be a perpetrator or a victim; chances are you’re both – shit flows downhill you know. Someone disrespects you and you have no comeback, so (conscious or not) you find yourself an easy target.

I have more to say on this conflicting idea. Every time I tell the locker poo story I get different reactions: some laugh hysterically, some recoil in disgust, others get very angry and every once in a while, a person will sit and think on it after one of those reactions subsides. If they do, the result is almost always sadness.

“A Sense of Freedom” (1981)