iwascloned
in
damned
Nightshift 39: Janitor's Closet
[from here]
It took five solid kicks to damage the door enough to get it open, and that was only after Spider also spent some time hammering at the doorknob with his flashlight. By the end of it, he was thanking whatever stupidity had lead him to build up such tremendous foot callouses.
He wasn't too hopeful he'd find what he needed here. He wasn't confident enough in this distant past's technology to trust they'd developed it yet. And yet ... there it was! Resting on the shelf in front of him like angel spit! Spider grabbed the duct tape in his mostly-working hand and pranced around the room, hollering with joy.
"Alright, you're not all bad, past! Haha! You're not all bad after all!"
The next few minutes were a blur. This was partially because Spider was dashing around the room, thoroughly examining its contents. However, it was mostly due to the fact that Spider decided to sample the aroma of every chemical he identified. Paint thinner, paint stripper, paint, and toilet bowl cleaner all went into a pile in the center of the room, and were quickly joined by glass cleaner, carpet cleaner, a couple of spray bottles, and some air freshener. The room swirled and fractured, and the industrial-strength toys on display sprouted bold outlines. Spider reeled.
He affixed one, two, three flashlights to his torso, switching them all on at once, bathing the ransacked room in the holy glow of his righteousness. He made submarine noises, and around his neck he wore a sign that read, "Caution, Wet Floor." Over the emblem of the stylized falling man, Spider duct taped a stern No Smoking sign.
Garbage bags! Garbage bags! Just the thing to carry even more drugs than what the pillowcases could handle. One was taped to his chest, under the wet floor sign. He put his legs through the bottom of another, then taped the holes at the bottom and most of the top so he could wear it like a dress. And then ... he saw the hand truck.
In moments it was outfitted for his journey. His pile of chemicals, now with bleach and paintbrushes added, tied to the straining dolly with three extension chords. Beneath them rested the box of garbage bags, and beneath that was a red toolbox, full of useless caveman implements no doubt, but not without its vintage charm.
Was he forgetting anything? Besides his last name? Nothing! Except ...
Doing his best to hoot and holler around the box cutter clenched in his teeth, Spider wheeled into the hallway once more. This time, he was prepared.
[back to here]
It took five solid kicks to damage the door enough to get it open, and that was only after Spider also spent some time hammering at the doorknob with his flashlight. By the end of it, he was thanking whatever stupidity had lead him to build up such tremendous foot callouses.
He wasn't too hopeful he'd find what he needed here. He wasn't confident enough in this distant past's technology to trust they'd developed it yet. And yet ... there it was! Resting on the shelf in front of him like angel spit! Spider grabbed the duct tape in his mostly-working hand and pranced around the room, hollering with joy.
"Alright, you're not all bad, past! Haha! You're not all bad after all!"
The next few minutes were a blur. This was partially because Spider was dashing around the room, thoroughly examining its contents. However, it was mostly due to the fact that Spider decided to sample the aroma of every chemical he identified. Paint thinner, paint stripper, paint, and toilet bowl cleaner all went into a pile in the center of the room, and were quickly joined by glass cleaner, carpet cleaner, a couple of spray bottles, and some air freshener. The room swirled and fractured, and the industrial-strength toys on display sprouted bold outlines. Spider reeled.
He affixed one, two, three flashlights to his torso, switching them all on at once, bathing the ransacked room in the holy glow of his righteousness. He made submarine noises, and around his neck he wore a sign that read, "Caution, Wet Floor." Over the emblem of the stylized falling man, Spider duct taped a stern No Smoking sign.
Garbage bags! Garbage bags! Just the thing to carry even more drugs than what the pillowcases could handle. One was taped to his chest, under the wet floor sign. He put his legs through the bottom of another, then taped the holes at the bottom and most of the top so he could wear it like a dress. And then ... he saw the hand truck.
In moments it was outfitted for his journey. His pile of chemicals, now with bleach and paintbrushes added, tied to the straining dolly with three extension chords. Beneath them rested the box of garbage bags, and beneath that was a red toolbox, full of useless caveman implements no doubt, but not without its vintage charm.
Was he forgetting anything? Besides his last name? Nothing! Except ...
Doing his best to hoot and holler around the box cutter clenched in his teeth, Spider wheeled into the hallway once more. This time, he was prepared.
[back to here]