Dick Phucks By Cody Walzel

Dick Phucks By Cody Walzel

On weekdays I stare into the fluorescent lights at work and soak my shirt with rage sweat. I burn with an irrational hatred for my new employee. It’s not the Axe Body Spray or his aggressive active listening, so much as the way he strolls in overdressed and glad-hands people at urinals. But, it’s difficult to outright fire someone in the litigious and HR-focused modern workplace. As a middle manager, I’m not even sure I have that authority. But I will make this bozo quit.

I won’t say his name. Even within the confines of my own head, I guild this office cancer with the worst real name I’ve ever heard: Dick Phucks.

Today Dick Phucks spent his morning blocking the only microwave while wearing clip-on suspenders and spewing inanity at coworkers. I decided to take Dick on “the ride,” in which I escort someone downstairs, berate them off company property, then bring them back up.

I grabbed Dick, “Hey, can we chat for a sec?”

“Sure thing.”

He tried to butter me up with small talk. “You ever listen to podcasts?”

“No.” The elevator doors slid shut and I started in on him. “I take it you have no actual experience in this field.”

“Why? Am I that rusty?”

“It’s less rust than that you faked your way through the interview and now, on the job, are an obvious fraud.”

“Guess I’m not quite on the level yet, but I’m happy to learn.” We rounded City Hall toward my little-known coffee spot. I said, “There’s been chatter among the bosses. You’re a charlatan. And your body spray makes you smell like a middle school gym bag. You’re riddled with nasty habits.”

“Oh?”

“Like your most recent assignment. Your info’s from the first Google result. Plagiarism will get you fired.”

We entered my secret cafe, and I noticed the hot barista was working. I paused the conversation until we were near her to flex my general importance and authority.

She asked, “The usual?” I gave her a cool nod, then turned on Dick.

“I’m just trying to help you, buddy. Inattention to detail costs jobs. So does detail preciousness. Attitude and lack thereof cost jobs. Veering off course, and following the course too closely… all job gobblers.”

My goal was to cultivate fear while delivering as little useful information as possible. We circled the block and I lashed him with every mistake he’d ever made. Real stuff first, then personal grievances, then just crap I made up.

I beat Dick to a lather, beat Dick until we were both sore and sweating. He stopped me on the office steps to kiss ass and thank me for the abuse. But I could tell from his weak, watery eyes that I’d broken him.

& & &

Holy health insurance, I got the job! After nearly a year unemployed, I was starting to think like, woah, maybe Dad is right about me. But no. Clean slate. Forget that boner I pulled at the last place. No more selling blood plasma to live off discount-rack cereal. No moving into Mom’s new boyfriend’s garage, where rent is only marginally cheaper.

Credit card debt and student loans be damned. I’m gonna treat my girlfriend to a classy, cloth-napkin, fancy date. She deserves it. Total babe.

My new Manager is intense. He doesn’t so much explain things as publicly spank you so you never forget the lesson. He’s harsh about minor mistakes, criticizes me in front of my coworkers, and polices bathroom breaks. Then I saw one of his bosses berating him, and it dawned on me– he just holds me to a higher standard. It was tough love, like a surly but inspirational football coach. Yes, he told I.T. to restrict my internet access. But he’s stressed and needs someone reliable. He sees potential in me.

For this reason, I’ve begun to think of him as my “Mentor”. At first, I thought of him as ‘Master’, but that felt too sexual. Mentor is better.

He said, “Hey, can we chat for a sec?”

Then he took me outside in the middle of a workday! It was a man-to-man thing. Working together’s one thing, but strolling in the sun, side-by-side like pals? It’s a crazy life.

I asked, “You ever listen to podcasts?”

“No.” Of course he didn’t. The guy probably lives in laser-focused silence. He said, “I take it you have no actual experience in this field.”

I like that he’s very direct, it’s a fantastic growth opportunity. I’m an apprentice. He’s the great master. And I made sure he knew that.

I was embarrassed, gushing like that. But I used to stay up late stalking this guy on LinkedIn years before I got the job. I never expected this much attention from a personal hero.

He compared me to a gym bag, and while it made me cringe, Mentor was ultimately right. His grooming tips improved my professionalism. Thanks to him, I know how sloppy and inadequate I’ve been.

Because if you want to know the truth, I’m not the most talented guy. Definitely not the smartest. But Mentor believed in me, and where before I considered resigning, now I was willing to put in the work.

We walked to the Starbucks behind City Hall, which Mentor seemed to think was a secret for some reason. The pretty barista knew Mentor’s “usual” order. Whatta stud.

Then he walked me through various “job gobblers.” And I’d been gobbling like a turkey.

When Mentor said “I’m just trying to help you, buddy” I was like ‘woah’. I’m already his “buddy.” No wonder he’s teaching me how to climb the corporate ladder.

We circled the block and he spilled all his success secrets, from file formatting, to loud workplace sneezing, and even how wet or dry my eyeballs should look. After an hour in the sun hearing a detailed list of all my flaws, I was starting to feel pretty smart. This was special training. Promotion grooming.

On the office steps, I tried to tell him all he meant to me as a boss, as a man… But I got choked up, my voice broke, then Mentor grew uncomfortable and pretended the back of his arm was really itchy. And although he avoided eye contact in the elevator, I could tell we’d bonded.

& & &

The dual department heads, Dwight and Pete, known collectively as “Dweet”, just juiced themselves all over Dick’s sloppy work. ‘So polished’, they said. No shit, I’ve spent the week over his shoulder guiding Dick’s every stroke. Dweet even had the nerve to hound me for having low numbers. I kicked a trash can and stormed out of their office. Compensating for Dick’s a full-time job!

I yanked Dick through the fire escape stairwell and up to the roof, where a strong wind and roaring ventilation boxes drowned out the sounds of me yelling.

“Are you trying to make me jump?” I pointed to the building’s edge.

“What?”

 “Is that what you want? Me splattered down there on the ground?”

“Huh?”

“You’re a human colonoscopy.” Gusts blew my hair loose from its gelled hold and I waved my arms in big, crazy circles. “Thanks to you, the team’s falling apart! You’re slow and dumb and distracting. Maybe I should just hurl you off the building.”

“Sorry, please don’t.”

“If you mention any of this to anyone, I’ll deny it, and they’ll believe me.”

“No worries, I can fix this,” he said. “Are you allowed to share my teammate’s numbers? Maybe it’ll help me catch up.”

“Dick Phucks, you–”

In my emotion, I slipped up and said his nickname. He didn’t seem to notice. I leaned on the vents, pits stained, woozy with fury. Dick shouldn’t need clarification. He should be going as fast as humanly possible every second of every day. I’d worked so hard to get here, the long hours sitting impacted my colon.

Suddenly, I realized the opportunity at hand. I gave him fake numbers. Astronomical, cooked, inhuman numbers.

Shell-shocked, he mumbled, “Okay, that’s not going to be a problem.”

Now Dick’s chained to his workstation. I commit hours each day to breaking him down. I threaten his job. Steal things from his desk. In passing, I bump his chair on purpose. Now there’s no wandering the floor. No more blocking the microwave. Just work. Smelling failure, coworkers avoid him. Dick skips lunch or eats at his desk alone. After the roof conversation, I saw Dick talking to HR. Fingers crossed he’s finally about to quit.

& & &

Work. Is. Amazing.

Mentor led me to his secret roof sanctum and bared his soul. He had to shout over the noisy HVAC boxes, and I could only make out every few words, but I felt the emotion in his voice.

“Are you… me jump?” he said.

“What?”

“… Your goal? … Splattered on the ground?”             

“Huh?”

“…Colonoscopy.” A helicopter finally passed overhead and I could hear him better.

Suddenly he threatened to throw me off the building. For a split second, I was scared that this guy didn’t like me anymore. Then I noticed his disheveled, wind-blown hair and those crazed eyes and all the sweating. I saw a wounded beast crying out for help. He clearly wasn’t showering or eating right. He was working himself into an early grave. And I yearned to ease the burden on those noble shoulders.

He screamed “Dick! Fuck!”

I’d never heard him curse before. Mentor’s always Mr. Cool and Collected. My teacher, my good friend, was suffering. And when he told me my teammate’s numbers, I understood why. Holy moly had I held things up.

I told him, “Okay, that’s not going to be a problem.”

So I cut lunches and bathroom breaks. I rush-ordered one of those tubes that lets you pee into a receptacle on your ankle. And you know what? It’s amazing how the pain of constipation, or a skipped meal, or a crusty all-nighter at your desk, teaches you to be decisive.

Mentor spends much of his day correcting over my shoulder, so my work has turned out fantastic. Plus, he must be way ahead on his own stuff because he’s at my desk 24/7. He says I might not be in my position much longer, pretty much announcing my upcoming promotion. Coworkers avoid me out of jealousy, but that’s the price one pays for being the boss’s pet.

Now I shadow Mentor, trying to fuse our separateness into one being. I stretch when he stretches. I tuck big, Hawaiian-print, Tommy Bahama shirts into slacks now. I walk him to his car at night, then return to work and bribe the custodian to let me stay late. The department heads took notice. They called me his right hand man. In my excitement, my wiener slipped from the mouth of the pee tube, and I wetted a spot on the cloth seat of my office chair. Sorry facilities crew. Boy has the grind paid off though, because HR just called me in to discuss management training!

& & &

I can’t poop with an audience. Coworkers load up on coffee at 9 am. By 10:15, the bathroom walls howl with the social farts of a half dozen shameless ogres.

I’m talking crass, thunderous, moron farts. These idiots talk while defecating. They peek below dividers, spotting friend’s shoes jutting from peels of slacks and underwear. Or they recognize voices in coworker’s grunts.

I have a clinically timid sphincter. Public toilets are too intimate for the workplace. Why don’t stalls go all the way to the ground? To whatever designer that first opted to turn public bathrooms into peepshows: rot in hell.

Each day I wait out the stampede, avoiding caffeine until the first bathroom lull right before lunch. Usually, I have the place to myself. Until today.

On my first pass, I saw legs poking from the stall. This happens. A fellow shy pooper looking for his moment of peace. As per the unspoken code of our order, I coughed and pretended to wash my hands, alerting him to someone else in line, then left.

Finally, he vacated the bathroom. My butt touched the seat for one whole second when BOOM went the door. Sneakers squeaked up to my stall. The lock rattled as someone tried to force their way in, and I froze, unable to speak. Through the door-crack, I locked eyes with some maniac. Dick Phucks.

He slammed into the stall next to me and I could hear the shitty, muzzled music still blasting through his earbuds. What manner of creature crapped without being able to hear itself go? Of all the animals performing humanity in this office, only Dick Phucks would shit, full-volume, while oblivious to his surroundings.

Why are restroom acoustics so robust? All hard tile and nothing to muffle it. Seemingly by design, I knew the exact second excrement breached Dick’s body. It sounded like someone nibbling a banana. I winced. Then came a rich, pungent odor. I braced in horror. My own process was too far along to run. Dick grunted. Plop.

“Oh yeah.”

 Kill me. Seven more plops, then Dick groaned with relief. I shook, feeling violated.

But then– the bastard wouldn’t leave! He sat there on his phone, luxuriating with a presumably dirty ass like a psychopath. ‘The fuck was wrong with this guy?

I’d been in stall standoffs before. Each of us would wait, cheeks on seats, refusing to start. Eventually, one contestant would pull up their pants and clear their throat, irritated, then cede the bathroom to his opponent. This was different, Dick wasn’t going anywhere.

I couldn’t hold it any longer. For the first time since sixth grade, I pooped eighteen inches from another human being. It was a polite, quick, and efficient poop.

I rushed out, eager to flee our combined stink cloud. But Dick exploded from his stall. Like he’d been waiting for me!

He took the sink right next to me. As I scrubbed my hands, I avoided his stupid look in the mirror, furious. Ashamed. Dick leaned over, a childish, suppressed grin quivering–

“Full house, huh?”

I hated this man so much. I’d sabotage him by any means necessary. Back at my desk, I prepared a botched order form with errors costing tens of thousands.

& & &

Things between me and Mentor have been different. Tighter. More familiar.

This sounds weird, but we shared a moment together in the bathroom. Thanks to questionable sixth-day meat, mine was an emergency situation. I made it to the stall with seconds to spare. Didn’t even have time to pause my music before blastoff.

The song ended, and I heard this nervous little tuneless hum mentor sometimes sings. I’m not even sure he knows he does it. But he must’ve felt at ease around me because, for Mentor, in the bathroom, that’s a pretty friendly hello.

I stalled on the toilet to return the compliment, giving the impression that we finished at the same time. I planned to lay a funny line on him. And, it’s none of my business, but Mentor’s movement took forever. He might consider more fiber in his diet.

It was well worth the wait. Once I heard him flush, I burst out and took the sink right beside him then said, “Full house, huh?”

Now that we’ve bonded bodily, there’s a powerful trust between us. Mentor slipped me this secret side assignment. The thing was full of serious accounting errors. It humbled me that he’d allow me to see he was still human. That he’d trust me with his mistakes. Thanks to all Mentor’s one-on-one guidance, I easily caught the goofs and shored up the numbers.

& & &

This living nightmare was finally, mercifully coming to an end. We were in Dweet’s office. Dick’s squirming next to me. Human Resources was nearby. I hadn’t pooped in weeks because Dick kept following me to the bathroom. I wasn’t even listening to the bosses, because I was too busy imagining security dragging a screaming Dick from my life.

Wait, what did they just say? Since when are Dick’s numbers impeccable? I stammered something about the botched order but they cut me off and said Dick saved us from serious damage. Then I couldn’t hear them anymore over the pulse throbbing in my ears.

Dick was touching me for some reason. What? Shaking my hand? Suddenly we were all standing but the ground didn’t feel right. Or maybe my legs. Dick’s animated, talking fast, but it sounded like I was underwater. What was happening? Why wasn’t anyone dragging Dick away?

I looked up as maintenance hauled Dick’s desk into my office. My stomach lurched. Something snapped inside me. I tried for words of protest but all that emerged was a spray of spittle and a protest shriek. My chair toppled. I smashed a stapler against the wall. I hadn’t inhaled in 200 seconds. My body tingled and surged. The walls scrolled and the ceilin–

& & &

Thank God I had that pee tube, because I am now, officially, the Assistant Managing Junior Executive Operations Officer! Dweet noticed Mentor struggling with his workload, so they invented the position just for me. Mentor’s prideful, so he resisted the help at first. But given our airtight bond, they even moved me into Mentor’s office!

Wanna hear the coolest thing? Given all that Mentor’s done for me, I was finally able to return the favor, in a small way, by preventing the back of his head from smashing the ground when he fainted. I slid on my knees and caught him like a swooning maiden. Everyone applauded.

Turns out Mentor is hypoglycemic, which is something to do with blood sugar. That beautiful man’s my meal ticket. So, you better believe I’ve got a desk full of– high-fiber– snacks at the ready. Mentor’s the best teacher and friend I’ve ever had. Our lunches, big Hawaiian shirts, and bathroom breaks are now in perfect sync. I’ll never let him out of my sight again.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Cody Walzel 2024