Community Service Ch. 06

"All right, Mrs Newlove," I said, immediately feeling the strain of supporting Norma's relaxing outstretched legs as she settled the backs of her heels in the apparently comfortably accommodating palms of my hands. "But, I don't know if I'm the person, to—"

"Look at my toenails first, David," said Norma, scrunching her toes to better enable my judgement. "Are my toenails nice? Do you think they're cute?"

The three new faces craned their necks, and the fifteen or so standing, sock-changing females gathered closer, the better to hear my adjudicatory pronouncements on the merits of Norma Newlove's toenails.

"Well, Mrs Newlove – judging by my own personal likes and preferences ... I think your toenails are perfectly trimmed: not too long, and not too short. And I really like your cherry-red nail polish. It really sets off your suntanned legs, Mrs Newlove, and your lustrous black hair," I told her sincerely. "It's definitely 'your' colour," I heard myself saying, complimentarily.

Recently returned from an AFP-funded holiday in Florida, the twenty-six-year-old, black-haired, voluptuous-figured Norma Newlove was actually looking very attractive, I had to admit.

"Now, what about the soles of my feet, David? Is my skin nice and smooth? Or is it dry and flaky? We want you to judge the soles of our feet, paying special attention and making particular mention as to the smoothness of the bottoms of our heels, and the balls of our feet, where sometimes we ladies have problems with an unsightly build-up of hard, dry, dead skin."

Some of the fifteen or so standing, sock-changing females tut-tutted empathetically and, showing the soles of their feet to each other and pointing out their own particular trouble spots, admitted that from time to time they did indeed have to address that vexatious recurring problem.

"Well, Mrs Newlove," I said, appraising the soles of her feet, "I can tell you that you have no problems on that score. The bottoms of your heels and the balls of your feet are in tip-top condition," I told her in all honesty. "In fact, the soles of your feet are not unsightly at all," I heard myself saying.

"Thank you, David," said Norma. "That is exactly what we want from you, as our contest judge: your honest, candid, considered opinion."

"Um ... all right, Mrs Newlove," I said.

"Community servant David," said Cheryl Chubb from the recliner next to Norma's, raising her outstretched legs in expectation. "Me next. Hold out the palms of your hands for me."

"Yes, Mrs Chubb," I said ...

And so it was, that I duly deliberated, and gave my "honest, candid, considered opinions" pertaining to the "cuteness" of the toenails, and the smoothness of the soles of the feet of next in line Cheryl Chubb, followed by Gina Stainham, followed by the three new faces – who turned out to be eighteen-year-old college girls Anita, Trudi and Naomi – followed by the rest of the fifteen or so standing, sock-changing females.

After assessing the "cuteness" of the toenails and the smoothness of the soles of the three new faces, Anita, Trudi and Naomi – I said, ingratiatingly in hopes of winning their future decent treatment of me and hating myself for it, "And thank you, young Misses (I didn't know how else to address them!), for doing your civic duty, and bringing your dirty socks here to the Sock Room for me to hand-wash, instead of washing them yourselves at home in your washing machines."

Anita, Trudi and Naomi all smiled back at me in open amazement, pleasurably scrunching and flexing their bare toes like there was no tomorrow.

"Oh, but you are welcome – Community servant David double-oh-seven!" Anita, who was the prettiest of them told me. "And in future, we'll be calling into the Sock Room regularly," Anita assured me. "To hand over to you, personally, our dirty, stinky socks for you to hand-wash! Because it is exactly what you deserve!"

When it came time for me to judge the fifteen or so standing, sock-changing females, Norma Newlove told me to go to my knees. "It's the best position for you to judge from, David," she told me. "You'll need to be nice and close to our feet."

One by one, each of the standing, sock-changing females stood directly in front of me, so as to facilitate my assessment of the "cuteness" of their toenails.

There was a surprisingly wide range of attractive nail polish colours on show, although some of the sock-changing females' toenails were unpainted or coated with a clear glossy varnish. Anita, the prettiest of the three new faces, had a French pedicure. One thing I couldn't help but notice was that all of the twenty-plus females' toenails were all nicely trimmed.

Upon my having duly aired my pronouncements as to the "cuteness" of each of the standing, sock-changing females' toenails, they'd then turned their backs on me, and raised behind them first one foot (that I held in my hands to aid their one-legged balance), and then their other foot, for me to duly air my "honest, candid, considered" opinions as to the smoothness of the soles of their feet.

As instructed by Norma Newlove, I paid special attention and made particular mention as to the state of smoothness of the balls of their feet, and the bottoms of their heels.

"So, David ..." said Norma Newlove, after I had duly delivered my pronouncements upon the smoothness of the soles of the last of the standing, sock-changing females' feet. "Who is the winner?"

"The ... winner, Mrs Newlove?"

"Yes – idiot!" snapped Norma, once again sounding like her usual obnoxious self. "The winner! The winner of the contest. In your judgement, who, out of all of us, has the cutest toenails, and the nicest, smoothest, prettiest soles?"

"Um ... I, er—"

"In your honest, candid, considered opinion, who do you declare the winner of this contest?" demanded Norma.

I remembered Norma's face of thunder, her obvious displeasure after I'd declared Cheryl Chubb, and not her, the winner of the stinky-sock contest.

"Um ... you have, Mrs Newlove. You have the cutest toenailed, and the nicest, smoothest, prettiest soles," I told Norma, feeling my face blazing away in acute embarrassment.

Uncomfortably I beheld the unforgiving disappointed glares of the other contestants. "It ... it was a difficult decision," I told them.

But, so help me, I was only telling the truth!

Norma Newlove actually did, have the cutest toenailed, and the nicest, smoothest, prettiest soles.

"So, Mrs Newlove, I ... I declare you, Mrs Newlove, the winner of the contest. Um ... congratulations."

"Good!" cried Norma Newlove in exultant triumph. "Good! I'm really glad you said that – Community servant David double-oh-seven! And congratulations are in order. Because now, as your duly declared contest winner, I get to do ... this!"

At this apparently prearranged signal, I found myself being roughly manhandled by some of the standing, sock-changing females, who, laughing, giggling, and squealing with glee, unceremoniously dumped me – the wrong way around! – onto Norma Newlove's now vacated black leather recliner.

Panicked, I tried to thrash about, but I felt my arms, ankles and legs being gripped to immobilise me. It was useless to resist, and my continued ineffectual struggles only served to antagonise my tormentresses, who in response further tightened their grips and dug their fingernails into me.

"I get to do this – Community servant David double-oh-seven!" gloated Norma, crouched in front of me, and glowering down ecstatically at my turned the wrong way, upside down face. "This! I get to put this lot down your throat! I'm going to make you eat it all up, and swallow it all down!"

'This lot', I now saw, to my absolute horror and disgust, were lots and lots of toenail clippings, and some little piles of greyish flecked flaky powder ... So that's what that electric-toothbrush-like sound had been, I now suddenly realised: an exfoliator!

On the slick, slippery centrefold pages of the glossy magazine that Norma was holding very carefully, along with the lots and lots of variously coloured and clear-varnished and unpainted toenail clippings, the little piles of greyish flecked flaky powder, I now realised with utmost revulsion, was the shavings of dead skin – removed from the soles (predominantly from the balls of the feet, and the bottoms of the heels, "where sometimes we ladies have problems with an unsightly build-up of hard, dry, dead skin") of the twenty-plus sock-changing females now present in the Sock Room.

How could they? How could they!

I already knew that the Sock Room brought out the bitch in many of the sock-changing females ... but this!

My neighbour from hell Norma Newlove was in her element. Not even her sweetest of dreams could have conjured up such a satisfying scenario.

"No. No, Mrs Newlove. You can't. You ... you can't do this. Please. Please don't. Please, Mrs Newlove ... please, please don't do this," I heard myself beg pathetically.

But I knew I was wasting my breath. Knew that my pitiful pleas were in vain. Knew, in fact, from the glint in her eyes, that all I was doing was greatly increasing Norma Newlove's wicked pleasure.

My pitiable entreaties, I could see, were also greatly increasing the sadistic pleasure of the standing, sock-changing females, who were smiling maliciously down at me as they held me firmly in place.

Upon closer inspection of the horrible little hills of soles-of-the-feet greyish flecked flaky skin dust, and the lots and lots of coloured and uncoloured toenail clippings, I discerned the scattering of Norma Newlove's own, distinctive cherry-red clippings. And somewhere, too, in those little dusty mounds of greyish flecked flaky dead skin, I knew, was Norma's own, balls-of-the-feet and bottoms-of-the-heels contribution.

To Cheryl Chubb, the winner of the stinky-sock contest, Norma said gleefully, "Eat your heart out, Cheryl! This is the real prize – this!"

Taking great care not to lose any of the ... ingredients, Norma Newlove rolled the pages of the glossy magazine into a mouth-size tube, forced one O-shaped end of it into my mouth, began tipping up her end of the now tubular magazine, and—

"Hey!" yelled Tina – the heaven, of Burger Heaven. "Hey, you!" she yelled at Norma. "Leave David alone!"

What in hell's name was Tina doing here? I wondered.

Tipped upside down on Norma's recliner, I couldn't see Tina, but I could picture her face.

"What's the matter with you?" Norma Newlove asked Tina belligerently.

"I said leave David alone!" screamed Tina.

How long had Tina been here? I wondered. How much had she heard? How much had she seen? How much had she witnessed?

Looking over at Tina, and then back to me, Norma said to the twenty-plus gathering of sock-changing females, as the penny dropped, "Ah! So, it's her, is it? It's her, is it, who's put such a big, goofy smile on Community servant David double-oh-seven's face?"

Norma Newlove smiled down at me gleefully. To her, this was like the icing on the cake. "Well, well, well. So you've got yourself a girlfriend, have you?" taunted Norma, tormentingly uptilting with deliberate slowness her end of the rolled-up glossy magazine. Norma was milking this moment for all it was worth. Any second now, and ...

"Didn't you hear me?" shrilled Tina again. "I said leave David alone – you bitch!"

I saw Norma Newlove's face darken at Tina's insult.

Trouble was coming. Real trouble. Bad trouble.

"If you can't stand the heat – Burger Girl – get out of the kitchen! Go flip some more burgers," Norma told Tina disdainfully. "These Sock Rooms are for real women. Community servants need to be taught a lesson. And it's real women like me, who are their teachers. So leave now – or witness what I'm going to do to Community servant David double-oh-seven!"

I was filled with a sense of outrage such as I had never before experienced.

Norma Newlove – a mean-minded, cruel and vindictive woman who had never done a day's work in her 'career-claimant's life, talking to the pleasant and personable and hardworking Tina – the heaven, of Burger Heaven – like that!

I wished that I could warn Tina off.

I wished that I could warn Tina to get out of the Sock Room. For her own good.

I wished that I could warn Tina to get away from Norma Newlove – and all of these other sock-changing, lesson-teaching "real women". And now – before it was too late.

For 'causing trouble', Tina was sure to land herself in hot water with the Authoritarian Female Party's local big wig – Canford's Community Service Liaison Officer, Harriet Harmman. The AFP wouldn't take kindly to their 'female-friendly' apple cart being upset – and upset, at that, by an 'ungrateful' female.

I wished that I could tell Tina to just forget about me.

I wished that I could implore Tina to just walk away. To just leave me to my fate ... to just forget, about 'us'.

I wished I could urge Tina to take a second look at her social calendar – because she had to have better dating prospects in there, than an unemployed and virtually unemployable dirty-sock washing community servant.

But I could say none of those things – because I had one O-shaped end of Norma Newlove's rolled-up glossy magazine full of multicoloured and uncoloured toenail clippings and soles-of-the-feet greyish flecked flaky dead skin shavings forced into my mouth.

Not that Tina would have listened to my urgent warnings and desperate pleas anyway, had I been able to voice them.

"Now – Community servant David double-oh-seven!" gloated Norma Newlove, steadily uptilting her end of the rolled-up glossy magazine. Smiling ecstatically down at my turned the wrong way, upside down, horrified face, Norma yelled triumphantly, "Enjoy! Enjoy – eat it all up, and swallow it all down – this little lot of—"

But then suddenly the decidedly unsavoury contents weren't in Norma's rolled-up glossy magazine anymore – they were in her hair.

Tina hadn't gone back to Burger Heaven to flip some more burgers, on Norma Newlove's advice.

Tina had stayed in the Sock Room.

And, her approach going unnoticed because all of the sock-changing females' eyes were riveted on me and my heinous predicament, with a well aimed, white-trainered foot Tina had flipped instead Norma's tightly rolled-up glossy magazine right out of her hands; the springing-out pages hurling the entire 'preparation' upwards and into Norma Newlove's face and lustrous black hair.

"Aaaaahhhhhh!" shrilled the horrified Norma, flapping small clouds of soles-of-the-feet greyish flecked flaky exfoliations from her attractive long, black hair, and pulling free from its strands with her fingers one of her own, cherry-red big-toenail clippings.

And that did it ...

I had seen Norma Newlove angry before, many times – but never like this. This was something else again; something on a whole new level. Norma was incandescent with uncontainable, white-hot fury.

Embarrassed like this – humiliated – right in front of her Sock Room associates and peers, Norma knew she would never live this hoisted-by-her-own-petard moment down.

"Get her!" Norma adjured her fellow, frozen-in-shock sock-changing females. "Get her – get the Burger Girl!"

Suddenly Tina found herself surrounded by twenty-plus very angry sock-changing females. There was no possible escape. "Keep your hands off me!" Tina spiritedly told the converging threatening throng of Sock Room attendees.

"Let me get my hands on her," said Norma Newlove furiously. "Just let me get my hands on her!"

"Leave her alone!" I shouted, finding some courage of my own from somewhere. "You just leave Tina alone, Mrs Newlove!"

"You just keep it zipped – Community servant David double-oh-seven!" snarled Norma Newlove, turning angrily on me. "I'll deal with you later! You are the cause of this – you!"

Whether it was because one of the sock-changing females had picked up the internal phone and dialled '1' to contact my two supervisors, or whether CSOs Karen and Linda in their office had heard for themselves the outbreak of pandemonium on the upper level of the Sock Room, I didn't know. But one thing I did know: I was flooded with relief, at seeing my two cane-wielding supervisors.

"So ... what's going on here?" said CSO Karen, calmly and authoritatively. "What's happened?"

"She happened – Burger Girl!" shrilled Norma Newlove, still flapping soles-of-the-feet skin dust out of her long hair, and pulling free some of the coloured and uncoloured toenail clippings that had gotten themselves all snarled up in her formerly lustrous locks.

CSO Karen said, "What's all that in your hair, Mrs Newlove? Is it ... what I think it is?"

"Um ... yes, CSO Karen," admitted Norma. "We wanted to have a bit of fun with Community servant David double-oh-seven. I wanted to force-feed him – make him eat up, and swallow the lot!"

CSO Linda said, "You should have given us a ring, in our office. We'd have added to it."

CSO Karen said, "So what happened, Mrs Newlove?"

"I just told you, CSO Karen: she happened – Burger Girl. She kicked the whole lot right out of my hands! She was trying to protect him – Community servant David double-oh-seven. Her boyfriend!"

At Norma Newlove's referring to me as Tina's cherished boyfriend, I felt my heartstrings being plucked like crazy.

How brave, Tina was! She had confronted and stood up to twenty-plus sock-changing females – to rescue me! And boy, she had certainly fixed Norma!

CSO Linda, handcuffing Tina's right wrist to her own, left wrist, said, "We can't let this stand. We'll have to present her to Ms Harmman. And I suppose you'll be wanting us to lodge a complaint in your behalf, will you, Mrs Newlove?"

Pointing to her hair, at the multicoloured mess of toenail clippings, and the dreadful dermatological soles-of-the-feet detritus sifting down through her formerly lustrous locks, the beside-herself Norma Newlove seethed, "Well, what do you think, CSO Linda?"

"I think you are absolutely right to press charges, Mrs Newlove," said CSO Linda. "But I have to tell you: if it's her first offence, she'll probably just be let off with a warning."

"Just a warning!" yelled Norma in outraged disbelief.

"A formal warning," CSO Linda clarified as if that would make Norma feel better.

CSO Karen, handcuffing Tina's left wrist to her own, right wrist, said to Tina, "Come on, you. Let's see what Ms Harmman has to say."

"It was absolutely shameful, what was going on here, CSO Karen!" argued the spirited Tina. "Someone had to stop it! This so-called Sock Room is an abomination!"

"Um ... Mrs Newlove," said CSO Karen. "CSO Linda and I will be gone for about half an hour while we go to the Community Service Liaison Centre to process ... Burger Girl. Could we impose on you to look after the Sock Room for us while we're away?"

"Oh, absolutely, CSO Karen. Of course. You're not imposing on me at all, CSO Karen!"

Being led away, handcuffed between CSOs Karen and Linda, Tina looked back over her shoulder at me – and I felt my heart crack right down the middle. It was a terrible, psychophysical pain. I couldn't bear it.

Why did Tina have to do this? Why hadn't she got the hell out of the Sock Room while she still could?

Tina could have any boy she wanted. So why did she have to get herself into this kind of trouble – over a community servant, sock-washing loser like me? A Sock Room attendant!

"Tina!" I wailed mournfully. "Tina! Tina!"

But she was gone.

Looking about me, I saw the predatory eyes of twenty-plus highly annoyed, vengeful females.

I beheld the rage-filled, glowering face of Norma Newlove; the angry faces of her Sock Room cronies Gina Stainham and Cheryl Chubb; the hostile faces of eighteen-year-old college girls Anita, Trudi and Naomi; and the unforgiving visages of the fifteen or so standing, sock-changing females.