Single Status Update
so, I got a job in a pub, which mostly involves me oscillating between beer pumps until someone buys me beer. As jobs go, it could be worse.
Two weeks ago this little European dude walks in and orders half a Guinness. Then he deposits said Guinness on the table and fucks off for a shit in our opulent lavatorium. So far, so good; at least one regular has been banned from shitting in his own house because his ass is so rotten that it makes his wife puke, and so he has to fire his shit down our toilet and hold his butthole to the extractor fan afterwards.
People shit in the toilet is the point I am making here. It is not unusual.
The pub begins to fill up with punters. No one buys me beer, which is fucking irritating. Half an hour later I notice that the half pint of Guinness is still sitting neglected on the table. Not a single fuck was given.
This was the first mistake of the evening. I should have put two and two together at this point. I did not.
Half an hour after that, a big dude with a beard informs me that there is something awry in the toilet. Big dude with beard, another accursed pub-shit doer, cannot enter the cubical to drop a tactical nuke. He has peered beneath cubical door - he has seen someone kneeling unresponsive on the pissy concrete floor, like he is praying to Mecca or some shit.
The landlord gets a screwdriver and removes the lock. Landlord promptly freaks out because this guy looks pretty fucking dead. Living people do not lie in this position. This fucker has ragdolled up against the cubical wall, his neck at a 90 degree angle.
Phone the fucking ambulance.
darknation the pint-puller is suddenly promoted to darknation the corpse-mongler. Our intrepid hero enters the cubical, which is about four-foot square, and ties to check the kneeling body for a pulse. There is a needle still clamped in the body's hand. His hand is freezing cold. His trousers have come down to reveal three-stripe, red-white-yellow boxer shorts. There is vomit, this man has pissed his pants, his last act upon this world was to shit himself. Landlord has phoned for an ambulance and the NHS 24 want to know if this dead dude is breathing. Trying to get to check is a nightmare. His neck is boneless, his head flops about, about a litre of clear liquid has pooled in his mouth and is slithering out like fucking anal lube.
That shit was the grossest part. It fucking got everywhere.
I try to lift him. Impossible, this fucker is a dead weight. His lips are blue. I know I've got to get him out of the cubical and lie him down so I can think about CPR. Then I look at this dead blue bastard and the shit that is coming out of his mouth and I actually hope that he *is* dead so I won't have to pump and french kiss the fucker.
Somehow we get another person into the tiny cubical. Somehow we manage to haul him out of the stall. His trousers fall all the way down as we pull him. Yes, he has definitely shat himself. Yes, this fucker is blue and he is not breathing. No, am I not doing CPR. Fuck that.
Not sure what this post is really meant to be about, but fuck that little European dude for overdosing in my pub toilet and totally ruining my Friday night. What a fucking prick.