Nightshift 55: Men's Bathrooms (M01-M40)
[From here.]
Oh hello there, old friend of mine. Peter strode into the now grungy bathroom and swept every available corner with his light. He had yet to be assaulted in his trusty rusty change room, but you know. Someday, something could happen.
The door swung shut behind him and he quickly claimed a stall, propping the flashlight atop the toilet box...thing (what was the proper name? He wasn't a plumber, god). As always, he made haste as he swapped out the uniform for his costume. Yet this time he found himself fumbling along, seconds ticking by into minutes.
Their previous uniforms were slacker gear. T-shirts and sweat pants. Now there were belts and buttons done up to the collar and boots strapped onto his legs like corsets. And that hat. That stupid, stupid hat. Peter scowled at it, rubbing the itches on his scalp where the damn thing had laid all day. The Special Counseling pin glinted in the glow of the flashlight. It suddenly seemed as gaudy and obnoxious as a neon sign at four a.m.
Without a second thought, he tossed the beret in the toilet. They'd get him a new one tomorrow.
Though it might have added a few extra minutes onto his time stamp, Peter was soon rid of the fussy uniform and back into something much more comfortable. (Mentally speaking.) This time, the ring was slid on over top of his glove. He was going to figure out how to use it tonight. Sangamon had been using his, calling himself the Ringmaster on the board. He had to have at least a rough F.A.Q. going by now. Peter thinned his lips and nodded to himself, then finished tidying up. The uniform was chucked into the pillow case and stuffed behind the toilet.
He emerged from the bathroom feeling marginally less like a dork than he had before, but one hundred percent ready for action.
[To here.]
Oh hello there, old friend of mine. Peter strode into the now grungy bathroom and swept every available corner with his light. He had yet to be assaulted in his trusty rusty change room, but you know. Someday, something could happen.
The door swung shut behind him and he quickly claimed a stall, propping the flashlight atop the toilet box...thing (what was the proper name? He wasn't a plumber, god). As always, he made haste as he swapped out the uniform for his costume. Yet this time he found himself fumbling along, seconds ticking by into minutes.
Their previous uniforms were slacker gear. T-shirts and sweat pants. Now there were belts and buttons done up to the collar and boots strapped onto his legs like corsets. And that hat. That stupid, stupid hat. Peter scowled at it, rubbing the itches on his scalp where the damn thing had laid all day. The Special Counseling pin glinted in the glow of the flashlight. It suddenly seemed as gaudy and obnoxious as a neon sign at four a.m.
Without a second thought, he tossed the beret in the toilet. They'd get him a new one tomorrow.
Though it might have added a few extra minutes onto his time stamp, Peter was soon rid of the fussy uniform and back into something much more comfortable. (Mentally speaking.) This time, the ring was slid on over top of his glove. He was going to figure out how to use it tonight. Sangamon had been using his, calling himself the Ringmaster on the board. He had to have at least a rough F.A.Q. going by now. Peter thinned his lips and nodded to himself, then finished tidying up. The uniform was chucked into the pillow case and stuffed behind the toilet.
He emerged from the bathroom feeling marginally less like a dork than he had before, but one hundred percent ready for action.
[To here.]