Nightshift 41: Janitor's Closet
[From here]
Eureka!
This closet, small and cramped as it was, was a veritable data cache of supplies and materials! A practical Au mine! Industrial-strength chemical cleaners in non-Euclidean containers! Buckets of varying sizes, concentrically stacked! Cylindrical lights! Bulbed lights! A hand truck! Duct tape. Sho felt like a little boy in a slide-rule shop.
Pulling open a garbage bag from one of the shelves, he started loading it with all sorts of goodies: bleach, toilet paper, brushes, spray cans, doorstops - it all went in. Filling a bucket full of light bulbs, he duct-taped another bag over the top so they'd stay put. After filling a bag full of metal pipes and other sensational cylinders, he started loading it all onto the hand truck along with his sheet full of broken wooden furnishings from his room. Duct-tape was a key element in adding this lot together into a complex polynomial that didn't look like it would fit out the door.
He paused to take a breath and suddenly the room became a lot quieter. Sho came to acute realization that he'd been cackling madly the entire time.
After a few seconds, the cackling resumed.
Duct taping the toolbox to the bottom of the hand truck and slinging a roll of extension cords over one shoulder, Sho looked about for anything else he might need. After a moment's consideration, he filled another bag full of batteries, spare rolls of duct tape, a hand vacuum and a couple cans of paint, securing this new addition to the top of the scooter stool. He pushed it out into the hall to give himself more volume within which to maneuver. After judicious application of mass*acceleration, the over-loaded hand truck followed.
"Now, for the finishing touches," he said with a grin, adjusting the coils of cords on his shoulder. He looked around, several items catching his eyes.
A few minutes later, he had a flashlight taped to each arm and the roll of duct tape, now quite thin, over his wrist. There was a "Wet Floor" sign around his neck.
[To here]
Eureka!
This closet, small and cramped as it was, was a veritable data cache of supplies and materials! A practical Au mine! Industrial-strength chemical cleaners in non-Euclidean containers! Buckets of varying sizes, concentrically stacked! Cylindrical lights! Bulbed lights! A hand truck! Duct tape. Sho felt like a little boy in a slide-rule shop.
Pulling open a garbage bag from one of the shelves, he started loading it with all sorts of goodies: bleach, toilet paper, brushes, spray cans, doorstops - it all went in. Filling a bucket full of light bulbs, he duct-taped another bag over the top so they'd stay put. After filling a bag full of metal pipes and other sensational cylinders, he started loading it all onto the hand truck along with his sheet full of broken wooden furnishings from his room. Duct-tape was a key element in adding this lot together into a complex polynomial that didn't look like it would fit out the door.
He paused to take a breath and suddenly the room became a lot quieter. Sho came to acute realization that he'd been cackling madly the entire time.
After a few seconds, the cackling resumed.
Duct taping the toolbox to the bottom of the hand truck and slinging a roll of extension cords over one shoulder, Sho looked about for anything else he might need. After a moment's consideration, he filled another bag full of batteries, spare rolls of duct tape, a hand vacuum and a couple cans of paint, securing this new addition to the top of the scooter stool. He pushed it out into the hall to give himself more volume within which to maneuver. After judicious application of mass*acceleration, the over-loaded hand truck followed.
"Now, for the finishing touches," he said with a grin, adjusting the coils of cords on his shoulder. He looked around, several items catching his eyes.
A few minutes later, he had a flashlight taped to each arm and the roll of duct tape, now quite thin, over his wrist. There was a "Wet Floor" sign around his neck.
[To here]