During the middle of the morning shift, the team was working on getting the house clean when we got a phone call from the school. One of the counselors was calling to inform us that Hank had been caught eating his teacher's lunch. During the discovery, Hank decided to throw a tantrum and now had to come up to the house for a "cool-off." The team consisted of Bill, the ultra-mellow deadhead, Toby, the milataristic neat-freak, Rachel, the big-boobed and lazy college student we all hate to work with, and me.
Toby, latex-gloved, as always, was in the laundry room washing some kids' clothes. He called out, "Stokie, you should go get him. If he gives you any trouble, tell him he'll have hell to pay when he sees me."
"Gee, thanks, Toby," I said. "You go ahead and hone in on those laundry cleaning skills. Don't worry about learning how to talk to the kids. We'll be fine."
I drove down to the school and picked up Hank who was waiting in the counselor's office. Our drive up to the house was uneventful and Hank seemed pretty calm. I did notice that he had some remnants of what looked like a tuna sandwich stuck in his notoriously disgusting, yellow and unbrushed teeth. We parked and walked into the house.
Immediately upon entering, Hank grabbed an orange from the fruit basket on the kitchen counter and threw it across the room at the opposite wall. It left a huge splat as it exploded on the wall.
Rachel was the first to speak to Hank. "Hank, what are you doing? Can you calm down? What's going on with you?"
"Yugoddagap!" Hank shouted, pointing at Rachel. He reached into the fruit basket and chucked another orange which left a similar splat on a different wall, "Yugoddagap!"
Toby stormed out of the laundry room and yelled, "Hank, you better calm your ass down before you get dipped!" Toby, in fact all of us, had begun calling getting put in a prone-restraint on the floor "getting dipped" ever since Toby dipped Rasmus in his own urine. "Now what the hell are you saying?"
Hank had stopped throwing the fruit for the moment and was laughing at Rachel. His manner of laughing was wheezing "hhheh, hhheh, hhheh" in that breathless squeak you get when you run out of air. He peeled back his lips to reveal his yellowed and tuna splattered teeth. He had two thin lines of spittle connecting his lips. "Yugoddagap! Yugoddagap! Hhheh, hhheh, hhheh." He was pointing at Rachel's crotch. He threw another orange.
Bill, Toby and I all turned to look to see what it was that Hank was pointing at. All at once, we realized the target of his ire. Rachel's jeans were hiked up high enough to give her a most obvious camel-toe. Toby began laughing hard and walked back to the laundry room. "You got that one, Rachel? Go ahead, help him calm down."
Bill attempted to calm Hank down. "So she's got a gap, Hank, no use in getting upset about it. Let's just move on."
Hank reached into the fruit basket once again, but this time he pulled out two bananas and held them together in front of his crotch. "Your shit look like this!" he croaked. "Yugoddagap! Hhhheh, hhheh, hhheh." I could hear Toby screaming with laughter in the laundry room.
In the instant that I saw Rachel's split labia through her pants and recognized how upset Hank was getting, all I could think of was, "Why? Why me? Why do these crazy things always have to happen on my shifts? What do you tell a kid about camel-toes when you can't understand them yourself? How could this woman put on a pair of pants, yank the seam way up her vagina and go to work like it is a normal thing? It can't be comfortable, can it? Is it an accident or does she like the feeling of it? Is it so hard to find a pair of pants that fit you without de-flowering yourself?" I stared in disbelief.
Rachel said, "Hank! That's not nice! I don't have a gap! Stop pointing at me!"
"Yugodda great big puthy! Look!" he was looking at Bill and me now - "Look, shegodda great big puthy. She showin' it to everyone today. She wanna fuck somebody. Hhhehh!"
Toby called out from the laundry room, "Is that right Rachel? Is that what's going on?"
I could see that Rachel was about to cry. I said, "Hank, yugodda get to your room right now. Either go there or to the bathroom and go handle your business. But there's nothing to do out here except get in trouble." I started shepherding him to his room.
"Okay, dude," he said. "But that bitch wanna fuck somebody today. I can tell. She goddagap."
"Alright, Hank. Let the staff take care of it. You just calm down."
As I walked back out to the kitchen, I overheard Bill talking to Rachel. "So we were all talking about your vagina, no sense in getting upset over it. If we just all move on, we'll all feel better about it." Toby was pounding the washer in hysterics. I walked over to him.
"Toby, who's stuff is in the dryer?" I asked.
"Oh, it's fat-ass Rusty's stuff. It's just about done."
"Lemme see that," I said, and opened the dryer. "Here we go." I pulled out Rusty's pair of faded green sweatpants and walked over to Rachel. "Here. Put these on. They're baggy, so you won't be disturbing the kids when you come to work. They should fit you just about right."
She protested. "Hell no, Stokie. I'm not wearing Rusty's shit covered sweats."
I shrugged. "Well it's either that or walk around with your gap hanging out in front of 10 disturbed boys. Your choice."
She took the sweats and put them on over her jeans, without another word. Toby was now on the floor of the laundry room, tears streaming down. Nothing else was ever said of this incident.
That was about a year ago. So now whenever a new staff comes in and notices the huge splats which are permenantly implanted into the walls, they invariably ask, "What happened there?"
There is only one response. In my deepest baritone voice, I say, "Yugoddagap!"
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