Hauling the big black garbage bags filled with little bags filled with shit between the teetering masses of putrefying garbage, the smell of fermenting waste in my nose hairs, I tried to do some math. I tried to figure out how many years the guy must have been shitting in bags to create this kind of poundage.
I took another load of the bags down in the service elevator and out the back to the bin Po Sin had rented for the job and had parked in the alley. My face itched under the mask and I wanted to take it off, but I knew the reek coming off the bags would kill me without some kind of protection. I started taking bags from the dolly I had piled them on and began flinging them over the side of the bin.
I tried to remember how much Chev said a new cellphone was gonna cost. Almost two hundred. At least twenty hours of shit-flinging to pay that off.
Crap.
One of the bags snagged a flange of steel at the top of the bin and tore open and little ziplocks of shit spilled down onto the asphalt.
– Crap!
I bent and started picking them up.
Three hours in, and my back and knees and arms and shoulders were killing me. I remembered my dad and his cronies sitting out on the porch behind the Laurel Canyon house, sipping bourbon and water and playing Worst Job Ever. All trying to one-up the others.
Gas-pump jockey.
Bellhop.
Stable boy.
Cabby.
Janitor.
Cow inseminator.
Night watchman.
High school teacher.
That last one from my dad. The trump that beat everyone and ended the game in laughter. Nearly all of them having been public school teachers at some time or other before they got involved with the movie business.
Wish I could get a round of that game going. Put some money on it. Id clean up.
Shitbag flinger.
– Ho, whos that on shitbag duty?
I looked up at the guy coming down the alley tying himself into a Tyvek.
– Whos the man behind the mask?
He came close, tugging at the shoulder seams of the Tyvek, trying to get the garment to give some breathing room to the thick muscle wadded around his neck and arms and torso.
He stopped.
– Hey. Who? Who the fuck are you?
I tossed a bag of shit into the bin.
– Who the fuck are youi
He ducked his head back.
– What?
I pointed at my face.
– Sorry, I got this mask on, it must have garbled my use of the spoken word. Allow me to employ sign language.
I crooked my index finger into a question mark.
– Who.
I held up my middle finger.
– The fuck.
I pointed at him.
– Are you?
He pushed his head forward.
– The fuck you think you are?
I shook my head.
– No, see, were still having communication problems here. It must be because Im speaking English and youre speaking Dickanese.
He grabbed the finger I had aimed at him and pulled up on it.
– What?
Pain shot up my arm and my knees started to fold. I quickly calculated how much harder it would be to fling shit with one of my index fingers snapped off, and how much longer it would take to pay off Chevs new cellphone, and made a strategic decision about how to handle the situation.
– Whoa, whoa, man! Whoa, my bad! Just foolin’ around! That hurts, man. Easy big guy, my bad. Uncle. Uncle!
He gave my finger a twist and let go.
– Thats right you call uncle. Fuck with me, smart ass.
I flexed the finger, making sure it would still fling shit.
– Yeah, thats me, smart ass. Its a habit.
He tilted his head as far as his neck would allow.
– You still trying to be funny?
I shook my head.
– No, man, Im not. Seriously. I mean, I wasnt trying to be funny in the first place, I was just trying to communicate on your level. Sincerely.
He grabbed my finger again and I went to my knees in the little bags of shit, many of them popping open under me. From the corner of my eye I saw several roaches that had been clinging to me bailing off, abandoning the ship that was clearly going down.
He added torque to the back pressure on the finger and I fell to my side in the shitbags.
He stood over me, straddling my body and the crap piled beneath me.
– Man, you are funny. You are so fucking funny, you know what I did, youre so funny?
I writhed, trying to take some of the tension off my finger.
He gave it a jerk.
– I said, You know what I did, youre so funny?
– No, no, man, I dont. Please, please tell me.
He leaned down, putting his pocked face in mine, his breath fogging the lenses of my goggles.
– I forgot to laugh, thats how funny you are.
– Knock that shit off.
The guy looked at Po Sin, coming out the service exit at the back of the hotel, pushing a hand truck stacked with rotting cardboard boxes.
– Uncle, who the fuck is this?
Po Sin pointed.
– Let go his finger, Dingbang.
He let go of my finger and turned.
– Man, Uncle, dont call me that. Told you my handles Bang. Just Bang.
Po Sin lifted the mask from his face, flicking a couple roaches from the exposed skin.
– OK, Just Bang.
– No. Just. Bang. Not Just Bang. Man.
Po Sin looked at me.
– Just Bang Man. Its like hes asking for trouble.
I laughed.
Bang turned.
– What you laughing at, shitbag? Lying in a pile of shit. Whats so fucking funny about that?
Po Sin came over and offered his hand to me, looking at Bang.
– Go home, Nephew.
– What the fuck, man. Im here. Im ready to work.
Po Sin gave my arm a tug and it almost came clear of its socket as he hauled me up.
– Job started three hours ago.
– Told you I was gonna be late.
– No you didnt.
– I did. I called Aunt Lei and she said shed tell you.
– No you didnt. And dont bring your aunt into it.
Po Sin pointed at the bags scattered at our feet and looked at me.
– Get these in the bin and change into a Tyvek with no shit on it, Web.
Bang pointed at me.
– Who the fuck is he?
Po Sin put a hand on his shoulder and turned him toward the end of the alley.
– Hes the guy who got here on time this morning.
Bang stood his ground.
– Bullshit, man. Thats bullshit. This is my job.
Po Sin leaned slightly, putting his weight behind his hand, and moved Bang off his ground and down the alley.
– That was your job, until you didnt spend last night at the shop like you were supposed to. That was your job until the van got plastered with paint because no one was there keeping an eye on things.
– I was in court yesterday. I told you. I had a violation. Fucking cop pulled me over because Im Asian. Total profiling.
– He give you a DUI because youre Asian?
– Fuck does that matter? Thats not the point. He had no reason to pull me over in the first place. I was driving fine. He wasnt profiling for Asians, he never would have known I had an open container. And thats not the fucking point anyway. I had court. I told you I had court.
Po Sin propelled him farther down the alley.
– You didnt tell me.
– I did! I did! I called! And after court I had to go explain it to my mom and she got upset and didnt want me to drive because she didnt understand that it was OK, that I hadnt been suspended and I called to tell you I couldnt be at the shop, man.