A Dirty Mop Tale

It seemed like it was going to be the average ordinary kind of day at work as I walked the three blocks to the restaurant for my dinner shift. As usual, I wasn't in the mood but even more so this day because I had been off the night before and I wanted to remain off for as long as possible. The door to the restaurant was locked so I pounded on the window until one of the cooks could pull himself away from peeling potatoes in order to let me inside. I clocked in and headed to the coffee machine to turn it on so it could start warming up. The first thing I always do after that is get ready to mop, my least favorite thing to do at work. I have to do it before every shift and I find it very tedious. The sweeping beforehand is fine but everything to do with the mopping part irritates me. The bucket is all the way in the basement and carrying it up the narrow stairway is cumbersome but I guess the worst part is pretending that I give a shit if the floor is clean or not. I walked over to the where the mop is stored and I was greeted by a beautiful sight: someone had changed the mop head and waiting for me was a beautiful never-before-used mop head that was white and dry and practically illuminating.

The mop head is usually a sorry sight. There are people who work way more shifts than I do yet replacing the mop head always seems to fall on me. Maybe I care more than I want to because when the mop is the color of disgusting, I can't help but change it. Lately though, I have noticed that if I don't change it, no one does so I decided to wait and see how long it will be before someone else takes the initiative. It had been weeks but it finally happened. Virgin mop! Suddenly, my mood was lighter. I grabbed the mop and did a little Gene Kelly-esque waltz with it. I caressed the head of the mop. "Gee, you hair smells terrific," I whispered into the place where there should have been ears. I gave it a hug and we sprinted upstairs to pop her mop cherry. "Agua?" asked the dishwasher. "Si, por favor," I responded. He filled the bucket with warm soapy water

"You ready for this, Moppy?" I gently asked her. At first she was a little resistant to having her head guided to where I wanted it to go, but I was patient knowing it was her first time. I slowly submerged her into the warm bath of Murphy's Oil Soap and after a few seconds she realized how wonderful it was and she couldn't get enough. She eagerly swallowed up the water and practically begged me to drag her across the dirty floor. Moppy was now wet and covered with the signs of true love. After the first swab under table 16, it was obvious that this mop was a true whore mop bitch. She was filthy with bits of bread crumbs tangled in her strings and already she was earning that dirty mop bitch smell. I pushed her back and forth across the floor like I had never done with another mop and though her handle was saying "no" her head was saying "Yes, yes, yes!" I plunged her into the water again this time leaving her there a little longer than I should have, but I could tell she liked it. Again, I dragged that dirty bitch all over the floor and I even gave her a taste of the bathroom which is something I don't normally bother with, but with Moppy it just felt right. After about ten minutes, I was exhausted. I could tell that Moppy wanted more but I was finished and that was all that mattered. I wrung that bitch out and threw her back down into the basement to wait until I needed her again. I smoked a cigarette and looked at the floor, shiny and clean. "Damn, that mop was good." I was satisfied.

The rest of the night was fine but nothing is as exciting as the first time with a new mop. It made my fucking night.



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