Zombie Tales: Primrose Court Apt. 205 Read Online Free PDF Page B

door squeaked open and slammed
shut. I listened to the shuffling of feet echo in the way that only
the tiled walls of a public toilet can. I'm not the type to get
nervous about using the public restroom, but I am the type to sit
and try to picture what the other occupants are doing.
    The new occupant seemed to be an old man as
far as I could tell. He shuffled a few steps then stopped. A few
more steps then stopped. With my luck, the poor sucker was using a
walker or one of those canes with the pronged base. The kind that
should have good sturdy rubber tips that would outlast the aluminum
frame, but seemed to end up with tennis balls instead. Bastard
probably thought he was going to stroll right into the handicapped
stall. Well, the old codger would just have to wait.
    He shuffled right up to the door of my stall
and I could hear the thump of something on the painted steel
door.
    “There's someone in here,” I said, pissed
that he wouldn't even try the other, smaller stalls. I knew the
doors were wide open. How hard could it be to sink your ass down on
one of those? It should be easier considering that there were two
good handrails on either side well within reach.
    I stared at his shoes under the door. They
weren't old man shoes. Not that there was a type of shoe that old
men had to wear, but these were DCs. Who the hell wore skateboard
shoes to the office? His jeans were faded and bunched up heavily at
the cuff. The denim was frayed and stained along the back where it
had drug on the ground. I shook my head, whoever this guy was, he
definitely didn’t work here on the fourth floor.
    There was another thump on the door.
    “Hey, I'll be out in a minute,” I said.
    There's nothing worse than being rushed when
you're trying to do your business. The asshole didn't even have the
common courtesy to take a few steps back and wait like a normal
human being.
    If he hadn't been moving like a decrepit, old
man, I would have given him a piece of my mind, but chewing out
some hadicapable kid dressed like a skater seemed in poor taste. It
wouldn’t bode well for my standing in the company to chew this
inconsiderate prick a new asshole only to find out later that he
was the grandson of the CEO or the son of some outside consultant
hire to minimize the company's cost base.
    In any case, my fifteen minute respite was
ruined. How can you expect a man to do his business while your
stand right on the other side of a one inch thick hollow metal
door. I folded up my newspaper and reached for the toilet tissue.
Just my luck, there was about three squares left on the industrial
sized roll in the plastic dispenser.
    While I might trust three squares of the
heavily quilted, double ply toilet paper in the comfort of my own
bathroom at my apartment, three squares of the semi transparent
scratchy stuff common to public restrooms just wasn't going to cut
it.
    “Hey, Mister, could you do me a favor and
hand me some T P under the door?” I asked as politely as I could. I
was at his mercy after all. I watched his feet shuffle and there
was another - thunk - on the door, but that was the only
response I got.
    I waited for a good sixty second then started
to become annoyed.
    “Look buddy, if you want the stall you're
going to have to help me out here,” I said.
    Still no response.
    I searched the stall for any help, and
finding none weighed my options. I stared at the newspaper in my
hand and thought it fitting that the Obama propaganda be used in
such a manor, but couldn't bring myself to tear up the newsprint
and do the deed. Knowing my luck, the high pressure toilet would
get backed up and I would soon become the laughing stock of the
fourth floor.
    I thought about using the toilet seat covers
from the dispenser behind me, but they were thin and rough with no
absorbency what-so-ever; I could just imagine how they would spread
my mess around without aiding in cleaning my person. That would be
my last resort I decided.
    Just as I was about to give