The Globule (part 3)

There was no question. I was going to pick it up, lift it near my face and peer upon its’ vulgarity.

I got myself some plastic gloves and put them on. I was ready.

I looked down into the sink filled with regret for something I had not yet done. The globule had slid itself under some food debris in the very bottom. It leered up at me, mostly hidden.

I slowly reached down into the sink and brushed the debris from it. It was soft and squishy as I pinched it into my hand. Its’ size surprised me. It hadn’t looked that big when it fell. I was expecting a giant loogie at most, but this was something far more wretched.

I brought it up close to my face, as close as I could stand, then immediately lowered it back down a bit as I processed what this could possibly be. I was disgusted by the fact that it was still in my hand. My first thought was that it looked like a bit of after-birth. It was pink and fleshy. Why was I holding this? A chill overcame me and I flung it back into the sink with resolve. It must be washed down with the other junk. It was filth. It was vile.

I turned the water on to its’ full pressure and quickly glanced at things washing down the drain. I felt as if it might infect me if I looked at it too long. I turned the water off and walked away. The gloves I was wearing were quickly thrown in the trash, then I scrubbed my bare hands with plenty of soap and hot water.

I thought I must put it out of my mind. I questioned why I even decided to examine it in the first place. What a disgusting thing to do. I went back to work.

…

I got back into routine, helping customers, restocking, cleaning. I regained my comfort, forgot about the globule. But eventually I made my way back to that sink.

I was going around with some new gloves and cleaner, scrubbing all the sinks like every night. I got to the steel kitchen sink and found a few inches of water resting in the bottom. “It must be clogged.” I thought.

The water was a murky gray and I couldn’t see the cause of the clog, so I reached down in and felt around the drain. I swirled some particles out of the way and the water began to ebb. I waited and watched as the bottom of the sink was revealed.

A choking horror overcame me as I spied the globule wet and glistening, covering most of the drain. It hadn’t washed away! It was still here! I must be rid of it. I went to reach for it, but stopped. Gloves were not enough. I walked to the paper towel dispenser and tore off a square. I strode back to the sink, determined.


I folded the square to create layers, more distance between the skin of my fingers and the perilous soft pile. I peeled it from the drain, making a horrible face. I nipped it into the paper towel firmly, turned and flung it into the trash. It mustn’t remain inside.

My hands protected by gloves still I hurriedly tied the trash bag closed and lifted it from the bin. In a state of calm panic I strode to the backdoor. Heart pounding, I clopped my way down the stairs and headed across the parking lot in the darkness. It was brisk and I saw my breath puff out before me. I imagined the globule breathing slowly, warmly inside the bag I carried. My pace quickened and finally, I reached the dumpster. I lifted the lid and heaved the bag into the dank blackness. The bag echoed a loud thud.

I would not be a part of this thing, this globule.


THE END