One Of These Characters Isn't Sad

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Woods McCahon let himself glance at the clock again, and was pleasantly surprised to see how much time could pass when you forced yourself not to pay attention. His shift would end in forty minutes. Just enough time to clean the bathrooms, mop the floor, and lock up. If he moved quickly, and wasn't too thorough, he could leave right at eight, and get to the grocery store before it closed. He'd splurged on a custom birthday cake, and fully intended to eat the entire thing all by himself.

Woods smiled. Today was, all in all, a pretty good birthday.

He wheeled his cart down the hall, whistling to himself contentedly, and pushed open the bathroom door, before stopping in his tracks. You've got to be kidding me, Woods thought.

It was a single user men's restroom, with one toilet, a sink, a paper towel dispenser, and plenty of space. All Woods had to do was spray cleaner into the toilet and sink, and give the floor a cursory clean. Except the entire floor was covered in vomit. Some of it had splattered on the walls, and Woods thought he could see some on the ceiling. The whole bathroom was coated in it, and it reeked.

Woods allowed himself thirty seconds to stand there and wish it wasn't real. Then he went through his cart for the most heavy duty cleaner he could find, a brand he technically wasn't allowed to use but the boss bought anyway, one with fumes stinking of chemicals that probably gave you cancer. He closed his eyes, and held his breath as he sprayed it on the floor. Then Woods McCahon picked up his mop, let out a resigned sigh, and got to work.