another creative writing asignment (job with personal conflict)

One Nation, Under God…

By Tyler

            I
arrived at precisely 30 minutes early to work and dismissed the person already
at my shift, and sat down behind a make-shift desk and clean it off. I then
began to sweep the golf course off and started straightening some of the
statues that stood atop of their pedestals. After, I began to wash my hands in
the bathroom one flight of stairs below the miniature golf course. While I was
in the bathroom I started to scrub the walls and washed my hands again. Then I
retrieved a mop from the storage room next to the bathroom and cleaned the
bathroom floors, then the lobby.  The
Lobby was a square shaped area that connected all the stares together, and the
bathrooms were to either side of the stares leading to the coarse. The two other
stair cases I never bother with because of two reasons; no one uses them and
they are beyond cleaning. My name is Nate and I am 19 years old; this was the
routine that I followed every 30 minutes while I was on duty.

            I
started working at this indoor golf course about a week ago, and I almost wish
I had not. The building was so old that regular cleaning could not make me feel
any better while sitting inside. The build was once a movie theater back about 100
years ago, about the time of World War I. The golf course was not old like the
building itself, it was built the year before I started working here. The
course was quite odd to me, florescent paint covered every inch of the wall of
the old theater room depicting images of a giant statue of Neptune
and his underwater kingdom. For lighting, there were 13 black-lights, one was
burnt out and there was no easy way to access it since it was about 25 feet
above a flat area. Walking into the room for the first time is disorienting but
you get used to it after a while. Towards the bottom of the theater room pieces
of plywood were put together to make a large open area, this held seven of the
holes.

            The
whole place made me shiver. The ceiling was the only place that was not touched
by the reconstruction, and the paint was pealing off and bubbling almost
everywhere. Just thinking about it makes me cringe. I hated this place but it
was the only way I could overcome my OCD. I thought that if I worked in a place
so wretchedly disgusting that it would help me break my OCD habits. The only
thing my condition helped me with was eventually landing me a promotion to
Assistant Manager. If my descriptions of the upper floors were bad enough, I
could not begin to describe those of the first floor.

            Another
conflict that I was trying to break by working here was my anti-social behavior
developed by my OCD. I viewed other people as breeding grounds for dirt and
bacteria, and that sickened me.

            “Nate,”
my boss yelled up the stairs one day.

            “Yes,
Mr. Jones?”

            “There’s
goin’ to be a birthday party later tonight with about 17 brats. Got enough
putters?”

            “Um,
yea, we got four extra putters.”

            “Good,
make sure you clean the bathrooms.”

            “Alright,
I’m on it,” I said trying to hide my dread. That’s the last thing I wanted to
hear, kids. Adults are dirty enough, but kids? Kids have no sense of hygiene.
If they could choose between a pit of mud and a playground, they would choose
the pit of mud.

            I
headed to the supply closet and grabbed a bottle of Clorox Wipes and began to
clean the putters and the golf balls. I then moved on to cleaning the 3-D
glasses that we gave the golfers to make them feel even dizzier and disoriented
than ever. Then I cleaned the women’s bathroom, it was already relatively clean
since it was rare that anyone would use it, so I moved on to the men’s. The
men’s bathroom is always dirty, so I scrubbed the floor again along with the
walls, wiped the mirrors and the stall doors. Then I fetched a bucket of bleach
water and began to clean the urinals, then the toilet. While I was bent over
the toilet, I began to hear voices coming from the lobby. I listened.

            “Are
we all set?”

            “Yea,
did you take care of those workers down stares?”

            “Yea,
but I think the guy working up here went out for a bit.”

            “Then
we better finish this before he shows up.”

            “I
think we better move the hostages up here, this seems like more secure place to
put ‘em.”

            “’K,
move them up here then.”

With that last
statement I guessed one of the men walked down the stairs and the other up to
the golf course. I was in a state of shock, mainly from the word ‘hostages’.
What were these men up to? I have to get
out of here. NOW!! I thought to myself. There were two ways off the second
floor; down the stairs were the men came up or one the side stair case that I
refused to go near. The choice was obvious; I would have to face my fears of
the filth that was the stares to escape alive. Suddenly, I heard a set of
footsteps entering the bathroom so I huddled atop of the toilet and waited,
clenching the mop I had left in the stall earlier.

            As
the man began to urinate, I slowly crept out of the stall and quickly struck
him in the back of his head causing his brow to hit the metal contraption on
top of the urinal. He fell to the ground and didn’t move. I grabbed the pistol
he had holstered in his chest-strap. As I was pulling the pistol out, I saw
something that made my heart stop: an FBI ID card. What the hell???!? These guys are with the FBI!!!?! Now I seriously
need to get out of here!! I quickly, and quietly, snuck across the lobby to
the stair case and stopped crouched in the middle between the two flights. I
wanted to make sure the coast was clear before sneaking out the back door. I
began to hear a conversation from up ahead…it was too dark to see anything.

            “Has
the package arrived yet,” the first voice asked.

            “It
just arrived a few minutes ago,” said a second voice.

            “We
placed it in the manager’s office in the front,” said a female voice.

            “Good,
set the timer to 15 minutes. That should give us enough time to get back to
headquarters with plenty of time to spare,” said the first voice.

            “Aye,”
said the other two.

            The
conversation continued and I sat there listening long enough to hear one of the
voices ask (who I guessed was their leader) as to why they were doing this.
Apparently they were ordered to make the explosion look like a terrorist attack
so that the President could push Congress’s hand in declaring war. They figured
this spot was just as good as any since the area was a renowned vacation spot
south of D.C. This would not only give the President more power, but more
support from our Allies over seas. The one thing I could not figure out was war
with whom?  It had been about two years
since the stabilization of Iraq
and the fall of all the terrorist groups in that area. While I was trying to
wrap my mind around the situation and what I just heard something landed on my
head. I screamed…loudly.

            “What
the fuck? HE’S HEARD TOO MUCH! KILL HIM,” the first voice screamed at his
subordinates. I turned and ran up the stairs and back across the lobby, then
ran down the stairs the two men from earlier had came up. I brushed whatever
had landed on my off as I sprinted out the front door.

            I
had gotten a block down the street before I felt a sharp pain in the middle of
my back. I stopped. How could this be my
end? I fell onto my knees, and then the next second I lay on stomach.

            “I’m
afraid that you can not live, my friend,” said a voice. I could not open my
eyes; death was pulling me away from reality. I felt my body being rolled over,
and I opened my eyes for a second to see a black blurred shape standing over
me. I heard screaming from people off in the distance, I blinked a few times
trying to get my eyes to see properly again. The grip of the pistol began to
become wet with something as I held onto it; I guessed it was my blood. I
lifted the gun quickly and shot the man in the chest. I blacked out.

            When
I came to, I was in a hospital bed. After a few moments, my vision cleared and
I could see that a man sat next to my bed. When he noticed I was awake, he
began to talk. I couldn’t hear what he was saying at first, but my hearing
slowly came back.

            “—uch
a thing can’t go on like this without being punished Nate. We need you to
testify in court please. Think about the country. I can assure you that this
type of government cannot last much longer if it continues to manipulate the
public’s eyes and thoughts. UGH, to think our children pledge an allegiance to
the symbol of such wickedness. Your testimony will help rid the people—the
WORLD—of this evil that we have somehow elected as President along with his
corrupt cult of radical nationalists. What do you say?”

            I
tried to clear my throat, but failed. I could tell I was in no condition to
talk at the moment but I muttered, “Let’s give ‘em hell.”