CLEANER: Chapter Two - Part Eight

THE ORIGINAL DAHLIA

I didn’t enjoy my walk.

There was little to see that far inland and the area wasn’t set up for tourists. It was just a lot of arid inhospitable wasteland and scrappy housing and heat. Terrible heat. And the shine had been taken off this experience for me by the abruptness of the hotel manager and, truth be told, the rude awakening I'd gotten from the surprise twist my life had taken. It made me slightly irritable. I kept thinking that if I had been the one to choose the route I was now taking; becoming an actual cleaner here; then I would have been able to enjoy it more. Having it foisted on me was... Well. It was like I really had no choice in the matter.

On the way back to my third-rate hotel I thought that through. That was what I had wanted really: to not have the power of my former role. I shouldn’t gripe. Melissa was simply allowing me to live out my fantasy. Yes, she was taking it farther than I had asked her to; farther than I’d expected; but it was still in line with my wishes, however unexpected it was.

As I approached the hotel I saw that the outside tables were laid for dinner. My stomach rumbled but I knew that I wasn’t permitted to eat with them or until they had finished. I wandered in feeling sorry for myself, gazing enviously across at the diners.

The manager appeared from the direction of the kitchens as I headed for the back staircase looking harried. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you. Get back here now. You’re supposed to be helping.”

“What?”

He grabbed my arm and urged me toward the back of the hotel. “Hurry. You will help to serve.”

“But I thought I was the cleaner.”

“Yes. Cleaner. But you help with meal as well. Hurry.”

He ran me back into the kitchen and shoved an apron into my hands. I was still bewildered by all this but I found myself carrying topped up plates of food out to the buffet tables for the guests to eat.

Back and forth I went as I was barked at by the manager and the skinny cook to move more quickly. It was hot and exhausting and sort of degrading. Because I thought this kind of job was beneath me? Was I so snobbish to think myself superior to the hoi polloi? Or was it just the mistreatment I was getting?

Either way I didn’t like it. It was too much of a thump down to that level. At home, within my own house, I had been able to take things slow and savour it as my own choice. This was the opposite of that; foisted into an unpleasant situation with unpleasant people treating me unpleasantly.

I kept telling myself this was what I wanted, but was it? Really?

The pace thankfully slowed as the evening went on and eight o’clock approached. I was left to hang around more as the guests finished their meals and went to the bar. Then it was cleaning up that I was roped into, clearing the tables and returning the food plates back to the kitchen. There were other staff members doing that as well and it wasn’t long before the skinny cook nodded toward the leftover food dishes and told me to help myself.

My stomach was moaning now and I greedily did as instructed, filling the widest plate I could find and carrying it through to the windowless staff room where a bare plastic table and plastic chairs waited. No one else was in there and I sat and tucked in.

The food was a tad cold and a tad dry but there was plenty of it and it was delicious. I chomped through three quarters of the plate without thinking about it but then I started to contemplate my intention to put weight on. If I ate like this every day then I surely would do so, and quickly. But what if I went further? What if I had a second plate? Or a third? What if I had a fourth?

I’d heard stories about fat people who ate so much that their appetites grew to match it, demanding more and more sustenance and bloating their forms even further. Here in this environment, without anyone I knew to judge me, I could do that if I wanted to. Who was to know? Who could stop me? Who would care?

Nobody.

I finished off that first big plate and then I went back for more. I filled a second plate with juicy meats and chips and mashed potato and mayonnaise. Back to the staff room I went and again I devoured it, working my way down. By the end of that much I was stuffed. I sat rubbing my full belly, thinking how enjoyable it was to cut loose so wildly. It was a shame I couldn’t have even more.

But on a whim I slipped up the corridor to the staff toilet and relieved myself. After that I went back and got my plate; took it through to the kitchen; filled it up with another helping. I was straining at the waist but the loo break had freed up some space.

Feeling guilty and oddly light-headed I carried my food back into the staff room and sat down, shovelling more and more into my mouth until my cheeks were puffed out with greed.

I thought about my cleaning duties starting first thing in the morning.

Then I focused back on my food and went on devouring it.