You started it, bitch!

You can almost smell their presence. The stench of shit that infests the urinals. A urinal should smell of piss. Yep, they've been drinking. And now they emerge from their rooms, smelling of margo soap and walking, disoriented to the washroom. I pretend to go about my business, working the mop and filling the buckets. I hate their weekend trips. It demands too much work of me on Mondays. Come to think of it, I hate Mondays too.

And now having awakened at the crack of noon, they will start their daily ruckus. Mop! Mop! Mop! Bunch of unruly cows. You'd think they'd at least let me finish up before dropping their cigarette butts in the shit-pot, jerking off in the shower. I hum a tune as the water roars out of the tap into the bucket. Clean the basins.

And now for the final touch. Stuff the drains with old newspaper. Drive the cockroaches from the basins to the lavatory, where they'll be defenceless. (Snigger) Sweep the lizards into the shower, (Dum dum dee) and pack up my things. Now I shall light a bidi and sit on the stairs whistling a tune while I watch them go about. I shall hum a Tamil song so I don't give myself away.