(72) The worker taking a crap outside.

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Summary

"Although I was lucky not to see any of her private parts, I was profoundly shocked beyond description" Warning: Any direct or indirect ressemblance to anything or anybody living or dead is purely coincidental! The storybook "Morbid and moronic referential code of life and society" is inspired and dedicated to Giovanni Boccaccio, the 14th century Italian author of the "Decameron". The multiple character storytelling formula is a useful setting for me. Boccaccio's storytelling is lively, sarcastic, off beat and challenging to the norm with these truths we accept when we have to. The stories in the referential code are (according to the author) Contributions of accounts sent by all kinds of people, some recounting an event they witnessed or remember. Some leave a chilling first hand narrative. The tone is "descriptive". The anonymous context allowed revelations of personal experiences outside of daily life, or on subjects all contributions had to live up to: We want only accounts of what life and society have as the least comforting to offer.The result are "stories" mysterious and suspenseful, with sarcasm, irony and dark humour. There are funny moronic moments, but there is no escaping the grip of terrible sadness and trauma, all weaved in a pattern studded with tidbits of history, occult, chaos, mortality and death

Status
Complete
Chapters
1
Rating
n/a
Age Rating
16+

(72) The worker is taking a crap outside.

I hesitated quite a bit before contributing this aspect of my life. I was afraid of alarming the population or creating a generalized panic by bringing up something so horrible that could happen to anybody.

But that's what this entire contribution is for, for the sake of authenticity, to provide a disturbing insight into what's wrong. I'll bring to your knowledge this situation, which unfolded in the most troubling circumstances.

We were amidst hostilities and at a disadvantage.We were on our way to the enemies' camp for a truce. (it felt more like being roasted like a pig) The chief of operations was a woman, distanced and coldly uncaring, totally determined to ruin us completely.

I looked at her once and realized part of her persona is the invisible bloody and raw meat scarf she always has around her neck. She's as neatly smooth as an abattoir. Your holocaust ain't hers.

The skin around her eyes was too stretched; it wasn't nice to look at. Now that I think about it, I'm not surprised at all anymore. But my first impressions at the time, although the negatives outweighed what I saw. I still picked up traces of reason, of humanity. Now I know her coolness is as comforting as a meat refrigerator. She has the serene lucidity to eradicate all trace of you and your kind.

Like I said, we were at a disadvantage.They led the events on the surface, but we still had enough power to act decisively in our favour. They had the equivalent of sponsored cadillacs and authorisation to use any weapon in this total war of psychological, social and individual destruction.

We have kept ourselves up to date on all possibilities for our needs and maintained a course of action beneficial and indispensable to us. It's what kept us going in general and taking each step backwards on our way to this useless truce, if it may be called that way; it was more like being sorely roasted like a pig.

She and her two acolytes met us at a small table near the field of supplication. As I neared, followed by guards, I could see them snickering from afar. They reminded me those three old witches who share the same eyeball.

It felt dreadful to get near the place; as soon as we saw it, we knew what torments were waiting. It was as we reached the guards at the main sentinel that I personally saw what basked this all to the most disturbing level.

The chief of operations herself, I kid you not, was squatting outside against the camp and had apparently taken a crap right there! Just as she threw away some leaves, she saw me, and the stretched skin around her eyes was full of hatred. She got up quickly and scuttled away like an angry crab.

Although I was lucky not to see any of her private parts, I was profoundly shocked beyond description. Even in this terrible day and age, everyone knows she's not supposed to be seen doing that. It's protocol.

That she even exposed herself to such a risk is questionable. If someone of the proper ranking saw her, she would be deposed for tarnishing their protocol.It was expected rebels like me would attempt to claim incriminating doings on any officials.

Since it was completely impossible to be taken seriously at all and such claims were used against us, I couldn't even get her charged for common insalubrity, as there are strict social regulations on the matter. Taking a crap or urinating out in public is nearly always prohibited; the less expected you are to be seen doing it, the more shocking it is.

So who you wind up seeing taking a crap outside can make a difference on the impact.The bottom line is, no matter who you are, crap is crap, and you can be charged for doing it in the wrong place, both for sanitary and moral reasons.

That's what happened to me. Even though I wasn't linked to any specific protocol except representing in a way where I work, I got deposed after I was seen one lazy afternoon taking a crap in the backyard of my workplace. I didn't notice that in one direction, visitors could easily see me through the woods, and several families walking by saw me. I was charged, deposed, and told it was obscene and not clean; someone could step in it, but I know only I went there, and the geese.

I realize now what I was missing wasn't something to hide the opening in the woods; it was protocol, the invisible shield. As long as you have it, you can discredit all your inferiors and openly get away with anything your shield allows. If you appropriate yourself a privilege, a heavier shield has, you will get crushed. It's protocol.