Community Service Ch. 02

I sensed trouble, now. Bad trouble. Sensed I had to get this right. Sensed, too, that I needed to keep a "civil tongue" in my head – no matter what.

"Well, Miss Karen ..." I said, frantically trying to gather my thoughts, into something at least vaguely resembling some sort of coherence. "First, I empty the white-painted wheelie bins, that are full of dirty white socks, into the main hopper, signed 'White Socks Only!' It's all automatic, and any fool can do it. And – and then, I—"

"And then, what do you do ... double-oh-seven?" interrupted C.S.O. Linda abruptly.

"I – I open the small door, Miss Linda, near the bottom of the main hopper, and I take out some of the dirty white socks – just pull them out with my hands; it's not rocket science. I ... I make sure that all of the socks are all pulled inside out, to ... to make sure that I can wash all of the dirt and grime and foot sweat and dead skin out of them. And I fill up one of the two large white plastic laundry baskets with the turned-inside-out dirty white socks. Then, I climb the step-ladders, go onto the platform, and I empty the basket full of dirty white socks into the laundry boiler tank, to soak – for at least two hours. I put in, up to a maximum of six baskets' of dirty white socks. And – and then, I—"

"And then, what do you do – Sock Boy?" interjected C.S.O. Karen. "After the dirty white socks have been soaking for over two hours?"

"I – I climb the step-ladders again, Miss Karen, and I use the long wooden tongs to transfer some of the pre-soaked socks into the stainless-steel sink, right next to it – the hot-and-soapy-water sink. But, not too many – I don't want to overload it. And then, I—"

"And then, what do you do, double-oh-seven?" interrupted C.S.O. Linda, again.

They were both trying to put me off my stride – I was certain of it! And they were both smirking at me, in that maddening way of theirs. They were insufferable! Chewing their gum, and blowing bubbles with it and going: Pop! Pop! Pop! They were goading me – I knew they were! Trying to provoke me. Trying to antagonise me, into ... into stepping out of line – into forgetting to keep a "civil tongue" in my head. So they could cane me! Yes: that's what this was about! Well, I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction!

"I put on my washing-up gloves, Miss Linda – the water will be too hot for my hands, without them, and they are stored in my janitor's cupboard, along with lots of other laundry things that I'll be needing. And I hand-wash the dirty socks – one at a time – until they are all nice and clean. I keep the water piping-hot – I'll have to, if I'm going to be able to wash out all of the dirt and sweat and dead skin out of them. And I keep the water good and soapy, too, because all of that dirt and sweat will kill the soapy suds. And then, I—"

"And then, what do you do, Sock Boy?" interjected C.S.O. Karen, again; this time, with a barely suppressed giggle.

"As I hand-wash the socks, one by one, all nice and clean, I transfer the all-nice-and-clean socks, Miss Karen, into the other stainless-steel sink, right beside it – the rinsing sink. Then I fill up the rinsing sink with cold water, and I start rinsing the socks through and through. Then I pull the plug, and I keep on flushing and flushing and flushing the socks through with cold water from the tap, until there's no more soapy suds coming out of them. Then, I transfer the thoroughly rinsed socks into one of the big green plastic laundry baskets, that's all full of holes. And then, I—"

"And then, what do you do, double-oh-seven?" interrupted C.S.O. Linda, yet again; but now, just as giggly-voiced as C.S.O. Karen.

My God, they were loving this!

At first, as C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda had begun asking their questions, they had been smirking at me, in that galling, infuriating way of theirs. And nonchalantly chewing their gum, and blowing bubbles with it, till they burst with a loud popping sound: Pop! Pop! Pop!

But, by now, C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda were both laughing and giggling so much that, in the throes of their mirth, they were actually clinging to each other for mutual support. And, because they were laughing, when they popped their bubble gum it was bursting all over their lips; on their faces, even, and that was making them laugh all the more. They – my so-called superiors – didn't even have the sense to stop popping their gum!

Yet, it was my face, that must have been as red as the proverbial beetroot, as I continued ...

"I ... I drag the big green, full-of-holes laundry basket full of all-nice-and-clean, thoroughly rinsed socks, Miss Linda, over to the mangle. I put the socks – one at a time – between the two rubber rollers, and I turn the handle, to squeeze the water out of the socks. The squeezed out water splashes onto the floor – it's why I need my flip flops – and then it drains away down the grid. When I've put the socks through the mangle, I put them into the other, empty big green basket that's all full of holes. And then, I—"

"And then, what do you do, Sock Boy?" interjected C.S.O. Karen, yet again, through her by now uncontrollable giggles.

"If the weather is dry, Miss Karen, I take the mangled socks outside to the courtyard, and I peg them up on the clotheslines out there – there's all the clothes pegs I'll need, in my janitor's closet. If the weather's wet, I peg the socks up on the clotheslines inside, at my ironing station, where Miss Linda showed me. And then, I—"

"And then, what do you do – double-oh-seven?" interrupted C.S.O. Linda, for the umpteenth time. But struggling to get her words out now, she was laughing so much.

"When the turned-inside-out socks are dry, Miss Linda, I pull them all through the right way again – the girls and ladies of Canford have got better things to do with their time, than having to pull their socks through the right way, so I save them the inconvenience. Then, I set up my ironing board, and I iron the socks – and, to a high standard – before taking them back upstairs, and putting them on the appropriate shelves. Then, I ... I ..."

I let my words trail off, at being unable to think of anything else to say. And anyway, I was flummoxed, at not being interrupted again!

Not that C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda were in any state to say anything more, for the moment, clinging to each other, as they were, and giggling like crazy. They seemed hysterical. They just couldn't seem to stop laughing. They were making sobbing sounds, struggling to breathe, and tears were streaming from their eyes.

I said: "Miss Karen, Miss Linda ... Are you all right?"

And they fell apart, all over again. Almost screaming with laughter.

When they had eventually calmed down, C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda resumed smirking at me, their eyes shining wetly. Saying nothing, but popping their gum again: Pop! Pop! Pop!

It was C.S.O. Karen, who then said, "Now then, David, what we want to know is ... have you got any questions, for us?"

The way C.S.O. Karen said it, it sounded as if I better had, have a question ... Then something suddenly occurred to me; just struck me, out of nowhere.

"Yes, Miss Karen, I have a question. What about the other dirty socks, Miss Karen? I mean, I know what to do with the dirty white socks; the ones in the white-painted wheelie bins – I counted eight of those, upstairs. But, what about the other dirty socks, Miss Karen? The ones that the other four wheelie bins are for: the black socks, the navy blue socks, the yellow socks, and the multi-coloured socks?"

C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda looked at each other, and then back at me. Grinning, and popping their gum like crazy.

C.S.O. Linda said, "My, my, you have been observant, double-oh-seven." She actually sounded impressed!

C.S.O. Karen said, "It must be his special training, Lindz."

C.S.O. Linda then exclaimed, "Ha! Congratulations, David. Good answer. And you have just passed the test that we set for you."

C.S.O. Karen explained. "See ... that's what those four large dark blue plastic tubs, stacked under the stainless-steel rinsing sink, are for – two for hand-washing, two for rinsing. I knew that you'd seen them; I was watching you, and I saw you notice them."

C.S.O. Karen went on, instructively. "See, rather than having to sort out lots of different coloured socks, and washing them separately, in dribs and drabs, we've made it simple, for the sock washer.

"You can hand-wash batches of the multi-coloured, and different coloured – or, non-white category – socks; including the black socks, the navy blue socks, and even the yellow socks, all mixed together.

"You wash those socks, in lukewarm water – instead of in mad-hot water – using the large dark blue plastic laundry tubs. And you wash them, using a special detergent – it's called Kolour Kind, and you'll find it in your janitor's closet – that doesn't make the colours run.

"See, some of the multi-coloured and different coloured socks are colour-fast – that means their colours won't run, David. But some are not colour-fast, and that's why you wash them with the special detergent – the Kolour Kind – to avoid accidents with the socks' different colours all running into each other, and ruining them," she explained.

C.S.O. Karen went on, "With those four large dark blue laundry tubs – two of them with holes, for rinsing, two without, for washing – you've got enough to be able to wash, rinse, drag to the mangle, and take a couple of batches of the non-white category socks to the clotheslines to peg up. While you leave white socks soaking a bit longer, in the hot-and-soapy-water sink. See ...? You'll suss it out, David, I'm sure."

"That's right," said C.S.O. Linda. "He's not called double-oh-seven, for nothing!"

When she had stopped laughing, C.S.O. Karen resumed, "Having said that, though, in a couple of days, David, you'll find that there are going to be enough of the black socks, and enough of the navy blue socks, and enough of the yellow socks, and enough of the multi-coloured socks in those wheelie bins, to be able to wash them separately, anyway, in batches of their own colour," she predicted confidently. "You are going to be up to your ears, in girls' and women's dirty socks."

C.S.O. Linda said, "So, double-oh-seven. We have now given you the details of your mission."

C.S.O. Karen laughed, and said, "Yes ... So we'll be in our office, David – you know where it is – getting on with the real work, around here. But we'll be checking up on you regularly. Monitoring you very closely. So no slacking! Now, chop chop!! Go about your duties – Sock Boy!"

"Yes!" said C.S.O. Linda, in authoritative tones, and suddenly all-business again. "Those dirty socks are not going to hand-wash themselves! So, what are you waiting for, double-oh-seven? Get on with it! Get cracking! Start earning your dole money!"

C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda turned on their heels, and they walked towards their office, going: Pop! Pop! Pop!

I watched my two young supervisors walk away from me, with their not-a-care-in-the-world body language. Their black, backless, thick rubber-soled, clog-like shoes, slapping against their yellow cotton socked heels, as they went. Leaving me to it – leaving me, to the unspeakably humiliating, mind-numbing drudgery, of my Sock Room duties.

Already, I hated the very sight, of their concave bob hair style, blue blazer, green blouse, red, short skirt, yellow cotton ankle socks, and black, backless, thick rubber-soled, clog-like shoes, A.F.P. uniforms.

I had never felt so depressed. So down in the dumps. So miserable. I felt as though I was being oppressingly enveloped, by a dismal, leaden cloak. I felt, as though—

"What's up, David ... aren't you having a nice time, then, in the Sock Room?" inquired a sarcastic female voice, from the upper, street level of the Sock Room ... A voice I knew.

Oh, that's just great! I thought disgustedly. Just fine and dandy!

"No," I replied, more downhearted than ever.

"No, I'm not, Mrs. Newlove."

Community Service continues, in Ch. 3.