Out of Order

Author’s Note: This story contains racist and bigoted ideology and use of the “N” word with a hard R in a derogatory way. Please also view the tags as this story has themes of non-consent, forced homoeroticism, toilet slavery and anal/oral play. Feel free to skip reading this story if any of these themes offend or disgust you in any way. Everyone else, enjoy!

Helen Campbell was tired. She was tired of training coworkers who were half her age at her job. She was tired of sitting in lousy traffic to get her weekly groceries. And she was tired of the rude young employees she’d have to deal with when she got there.

“C’mon…c’mon!” She grumbled, tapping her gnarled fingernails on the steering wheel. The grouchy woman skulked as the neon red traffic light taunted her. 57…58…59…60 seconds. 8:41PM. That made it 41 minutes of her sitting in this Austin traffic, breathing the same air as these hooligans who couldn’t even drive. Not her, of course. She was an excellent driver, unlike the wayward folks in her town nowadays. Her only resolve was that she was at the stretch of the I-45 exit, 5 minutes shy of her destination. Then she could buy her groceries, head home to her family, and be free of this hellhole.

Today was not a good day for Helen. But then again, she hadn’t had a good day since Bush was president. The 63-year-old Southern matriarch had raised her family in her home state of Texas for over 42 years. But chaos reigned since then. It all started when liberals, avocado-eating millennials, and godless folk gentrified her town. She used to take pride in the small, suburban, God-fearing community she grew up in. They were a modest, pious bunch who worshiped the Lord at Saint Matthew’s on Sundays and her generous donations to the Church made her most respected. Now, piety was leaving American values. And pink-haired young people were ushering in “new” ones. All they cared about was “gender expression”, removing God from schools, and having a Starbucks on every street corner. She found it ironic that the youth were spearheaded as the “future” of America. Yet they couldn’t even thank her for helping them do their job, much less do all that she did for the community. The nerve! As traffic continued to drone, Helen Campbell stewed over this injustice.

“No one values plain conservative values anymore. These new millennials…they think they know everything.” She huffed to herself. The light turned green. With a sigh of relief, Helen turned right on the exit and pulled into the Foodarama parking lot. She reversed her car into an empty parking space.

“It’s about damn time. Finally, I can-“

She was about to pull into the space when a long, winding screech stopped her in her tracks. A blue Ford pickup truck swerved into view, cutting her off and parking right in the space. Two teenage boys with blue-green hair and matching university jackets hopped out of the vehicle. She nearly had a heart attack pumping the brakes. If she was an inch closer, the cars would’ve collided.

That did it. “Hey!” She barked, climbing out of her car. One of the boys closed the driver-side door of the truck while the other went to grab a shopping cart.

“Hey, you two dinguses!” The boy that closed the driver-side door towered at 6’2, much taller than her 5’3. His eyes squinted as he searched for the culprit of the nasally yelling and met the cold stare of the 63-year-old grandma.

“Uhh…yes, ma’am?” He asked. He stood about 3 inches taller and slimmer than the other boy, but they looked like brothers. Their tawny skin, pixie-dyed hair, and lean builds sharply contrasted with her pale skin, short-cropped highlights, and stout frame.

“Oh so now you all have some manners. You almost hit my car and took MY parking spot!” Helen spat. He followed her gaze to her small Red Chevy that grazed the shoulder of his car. His partner joined them with a shopping cart in hand and an equally confused expression on his face.

The boy scratched the back of his head. “Oh uh sorry about that ma’am. Our bad. It’s a good thing you didn’t get hit. We did pull in before you, though…? There are plenty of other empty spots if you want to park someplace else —“

“Park someplace else, are you kidding me?! When you two doofuses are the one who swerved into the spot I was parking in first? What is the matter with you?! I swear all you millennials do is think of yourselves with your blue hair and piercings!”

The boy with the cart furrowed a brow. “…We’re Gen-Z, though?”

“Ugh!” Helen had enough. The conversation was clearly going nowhere. The two boys looked like they were struggling with the same braincell trying to understand why they were in the wrong. Well if they couldn’t understand, she would find someone to make them.

Turning around, she hopped back into her car and floored her red Chevy into one of the many empty parking spaces. She slammed her car door on her way out. Then, she sauntered through the double doors of the Foodarama with her mission in mind. siirt escort “Excuse me…excuse me!?” She called out, pacing the store for an employee.

“Yes?” answered a young black woman in uniform. She looked like she was between 20-24, rocking two frizzy afro puffs, dark eye makeup and piercings all over her face. Yet she was the first to greet her. Or rather, acknowledge her, because she wore a look of pure disinterest. It was as if she was already annoyed by the task she was about to take on.

“Yes…Rhaven,” Helen read the name tag on her employee vest in utter exasperation. “Those two young delinquents back there nearly hit my vehicle and stole my parking space. I feel utterly violated right now!”

Rhaven craned her neck to see the two “delinquents” outside walking peacefully to the store.

She furrowed her brow. “Uh, sorry to hear that. And what would you like me to do, ma’am?”

Helen sputtered in disbelief. Had she not made herself clear? “Well first I’d like you to make them apologize for almost hitting me and giving me a heart attack! Then I want you to tell them to go find a different parking spot! “

A sigh. “Ma’am, did you reserve the parking spot in advance? “

“Well, no–“

“Did you have your turn signal on when you were pulling into the spot?”

Helen’s face flushed. “Well – uh, no- “

“Then it’s first come, first served. It’s out of our hands. “

“Gah- out of your hands! Surely, there must be someone here who has something to say about this. Where is your manager?”

“I’m the manager for the night. And I’m asking you to either kindly drop this and continue your shopping like everyone else. Or find someplace else to shop. We’re almost at closing hour.”

Helen blinked in shock. She turned to see if anyone was witnessing this attack on her but found no one. Only a large, bearded man a few feet away with a biker’s build and tattoos.

“I have as much right as anyone else to shop in this store. I’ve been a shopper here for 42 years…42!” She hissed, clutching her purse. She grabbed a shopping cart and started to walk away from the less-than-helpful employee. Then, she stopped and said. “And by the way, Rhaven, you could stand to wipe off that makeup and remove those piercings from your face when you’re in a customer service position. It would help you to look more professional.”

Rhaven appeared unphased. “Sure, Lady. Store closes at 10.”

***

It was 9:45PM and Helen still hadn’t checked off all the items in her grocery list. She was still steaming over the last hour’s conversation with the sassy black employee who’d shut her down. The gumption of that wannabe punkster! She had tried to be nice and forward with the girl. But the girl not only refused to help her, she insulted her. The audacity.

These millennials will never learn, she grumbled.

She stared back at her grocery list in hand. Eggs, milk, butter…but no cheese. She wanted to make a nice batch of red velvet cheesecake her grandkids loved and didn’t want to leave the store empty-handed. She searched up and down the Dairy aisle in the back of the store, hoping there was a section for cheese she’d missed but there was none. It was now a quarter till closing time, and she felt like the only person still in the store. Surely there must be extra cheese product in the back they could provide her with, and she’d be on her merry way.

Peering out the aisle, she looked for an employee to assist her. The only employee in the store, however, was Rhaven, the rude goth black girl. Talking to a gang of big burly men with long goatees and tattoos down their arms. She baited her breath.

“Excuse me… I need some help in this aisle, please?”

Rhaven broke her conversation with the men to look in her direction. Then she sighed as she realized who was beckoning her. “In a minute, ma’am.”

“It would only take a second–“

“In. A. Minute. Ma’am.” The black girl repeated herself like a mother scolding her child. Humph. Well then! Helen didn’t want to even dignify her with a response. She drummed her nails on her cart and seethed and waited for their conversation to end. While waiting, she browsed the other items on display. She stole a few glances at the clock every now and then as it ticked towards 10:00PM, closing time.

A loud clash took her out of her thoughts. She jolted forward, listening for the source of the commotion. It was coming from the front of the store where the black girl and those three men were. She heard four animated voices getting louder and louder. Then, a rattle followed by a high-pitched squeal and a strain of muffles trailed after.

What was all that about? This time when Helen peered around the aisle, the front desk was empty. No black girl and none of the three men in sight. What’s more, candy bars and other merchandise lay strewn all over the counter, as if a scuffle took place.

“Hello?” She called out. But no one answered. Her voice echoed in the silifke escort low-lit, vacant store. She walked to the front of the register. Out of the corner of her eye a shiny black button with blue lace lay on the floor. She picked it up, turning it over in her hand. It looked like one of the buttons on Rhaven’s employee vest, but Helen couldn’t be sure.

“Hmmm.” She muttered. Looking up at the wall clock, she balked. It was 10:10PM. Surely the attending employee would’ve announced it was closing time, checked out the last customer, and locked the doors. But the only car in the parking lot was hers, save for a motorcycle on the far end of the lot. The whole store looked like a ghost town. A part of her wondered, did some altercation happen between the black girl and those men?

If so, then good on them, Helen thought snidely. That black bitch got whatever was coming to her.

But also, that would mean that her grocery shopping was done for the day, and that once again disappointed her. So she ambled her way to the self-checkout lane to ring her things.

As she rang the last of her items, a large presence came into view. She looked up and it was the same man who had watched her get humiliated by that black girl. He was a mountain of muscle with ivory skin, a long goatee brushing his beer belly, and a cropped vest that exposed long metal chains and tattoos down his arms.

He tipped his biker hat to her. “You have a good day, ma’am.”

She felt an uneasiness about him that she couldn’t place her finger on but nodded her head in response. “You too, sir.” She then gave a strained chuckle at the emptiness around them. “You’d think someone would be here by now to help us. No sense of service these days.”

The man gave a throaty laugh. “Well, you won’t have to worry about bad service anymore. It’s about time those people started treating us with respect.”

Helen blinked, unsure of what the man meant exactly but gave a hesitant nod at his words as he looked around her age. “Oh, I agree.” She said. Then with an awkward smile she turned to fish her receipt out of the checkout machine. What she didn’t see was the swastika symbol on the brooding man’s arm that had faint scratch marks from where a female hand had clawed at.

As the man headed for the door, he turned. “Oh, and just to let you know. The bathroom in the store is out of order. So, you may want to use the Johnny out back if you need to take a leak.”

Helen nodded and watched the man leave the store and disappear without another word. Now she was all alone. She would have asked him where his other partners were and what their argument with that Rhaven employee was about. But she held her tongue.

She was alone.

And now that she was alone, she realized she did have to pee. All this driving, sitting in traffic, and shopping was testing her 63-year-old bladder. She was an even more unpleasant woman when she couldn’t tinkle.

What did the man say again? Oh yes, the bathroom out back is available. Shoot.

The bathroom out back was an outside toilet and one had to walk all the way to the back of the store to find it. Helen didn’t want to waste more time than she already had. So, she clicked her heels down the aisles, and walked through the store’s back doors. Thankfully, they didn’t auto-lock once she closed them. She kept walking until the standing portapotty came into view.

There was a…pungent smell coming from the portapotty she realized. A smell she didn’t even realize COULD come out of a toilet in the first place. Ugh, if it wasn’t millennials bothering her, it was men with their disgusting hygiene.

She went to the front of the portapotty. There, she stopped cold at the following words in white spray paint on the door.

“NIGGER SERVICE OPEN 24/7. WILL RESPECT ON COMMAND. “

My my…she hadn’t seen that word since…well since it was still used in her day. But above all, confusion consumed her. Who would spray this? And what did it mean by “will respect on command”? She wondered if the biker guy had seen the graffiti on the portapotty before he mentioned it to her. She heard a sniffle then soft groaning on the other side of the door, taking her out of her thoughts. She jumped back.

The status on the door said it was unoccupied. But then what was that noise on the other side? The more she lingered in her questions the more she felt the urge to bust out of her prim and proper attire. So she gave out and turned the knob.

Helen gasped.

In the center was the toilet, a small smelly putrid white thing. But next to it was a sniffling naked Rhaven with shackles binding her arms and legs to the wall. Her uniform or what remained of it was tattered on the floor in a murky pool of yellow mystery mess. Her hair was a rat’s nest, her two afro puffballs now ragged and frizzled out in all directions. Her mascara was runny and all down her cheeks and her black lipstick was smeared across her lips. There silivre escort were splotches of blood where her piercings were – ouch – but they were the only item on her body fairly intact. Yes there was definitely a scuffle.

She couldn’t believe her eyes but she was even in more disbelief at the graffiti on the girl’s body. Someone had written “NIGGER TOILET” and “TOILET WHORE” in white across the alt black girl’s frame. Over her small but perky black breasts, and over her petite toned legs. What’s more, a circular metal ring gag with black straps was clamped over the girl’s mouth. It forced her mouth wide open and made her unable to scream or cry out for help. Every time her mouth moved, the ring pushed itself around its inner corners like some medieval oral torture box. She was a muffled, sniffling mess.

“Who – what -” Helen was speechless. The girl’s big brown eyes peered up, frightened. When she met Helen’s gaze again, she broke out sobbing, the metal ring still locking her mouth in place. She felt for the girl.

But she also had to pee.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Helen couldn’t wait anymore. She prayed to God for forgiveness for her language as she scrambled to the gross toilet seat. She hovered over it to tinkle. No way was she going to let her behind touch that disgrace of a seat. She pulled her pants down to her knobby ankles and sighed. A stream of the day’s waste exited her body and into the dark pit of the John.

As putrid as this portapotty was, Helen finally felt some relief. Like the day’s anger was trickling out of her and into the John. She reached behind her for a roll of toilet paper to wipe her bottom but found there was none. And not only that, but in weak lettering, someone had used felt wrapper to write “OUT OF ORDER” on the sill.

Christ, so no toilet paper and no working toilet. Great.

Sniffle, sniffle.

Her head whipped around to the black girl still crying. She had seen her urinating all this time. No doubt, she was furious that Helen’s first instinct was to pee before helping her.

“Oh, don’t you give me that look. I would’ve soaked my panties if I didn’t. Then who would that have helped, huh?” Helen chided. The restrained black girl rolled her eyes with a look of annoyance. Helen caught a whiff of the black girl and recoiled as an acrid odor flooded her nostrils. Whee-eew! Now she knew where the stench was coming from. It dawned on her. The graffiti. The piss-soaked floor. The naked trembling girl. The biker men didn’t just vandalize this potty. They used the girl as their porta potty!

Helen was appalled. People could be that nasty? But then her thoughts went to how animated the voices of the three men and the girl were back at the store. The young girl probably mouthed off and said something to make the men react. The mouth ring clamped over the girl’s mouth only reaffirmed her suspicion.

“Humph. I bet you wished you had waited on me now, huh? I guess this is what happens when you don’t respect your elders. At least the white ones, anyway.”

The black girl’s eyes widened, and her mouth attempted to move to protest the woman, but as predicted the ring gag stifled her.

Helen dismissed her. She stood over, looking for any toilet roll hidden under or behind the girl. The girl cowered back.

“Oh, please! I’m not a man. If I wanted to punish you I would’ve washed out that little sassy mouth of yours with soap. I do need toilet paper though…” She mumbled, scanning the area for a sign for toilet paper or wipes. Heck even a stiff paper towel would do. Nada. The girl, frustrated, yanked at the metal cuffs shackling her to the hook on the wall.

“Oh jeez! Impatient, are you? You want me to do you a favor when you couldn’t even do me a favor – twice might I add? And I even said ‘please ‘. That’s what’s wrong with you millennials. How about you start with an apology first and THEN you can ask me to let you go politely.”

The girl’s eyes blinked in confusion. Her mouth was gagged. She couldn’t form real words without gurgling spit. But she made her best attempt.

“I —SAAAAAAWWWHHEEEEEEEE—MMMHHHEEEHHHHMMM.” Saliva bubbled out of the girl’s mouth as she tried to say, “I’m sorry ma’am”.

Helen, still naked from the waist down, arched forward and cocked her ear to the side.

“What was that, dear?”

“I —SAAAAAAWWWHHEEEEEEEE!” The girl wailed, more in frustration than sincerity.

Helen smirked. “Much better. Now ask me to help you, nicely.”

A pause. “Puhweeee-huuuuuhhhhh-meeee—miiihhh—“

“Oh dear. I can barely understand you. You youngsters and your mumbling. Say that again?”

“GAAAAHHHHH!!” The girl launched her body at Helen. But she got thrown back by the whiplash of the shackles and fell into a puddle of piss. Her wrists and ankles looked red and raw from her failed assault.

“I thought so.” Helen said, narrowing her eyes at her. “You aren’t sorry, you’re just desperate. And now you want me to help get you out of this mess, so you can go back to being a disrespectful little punk.”

In Helen’s eyes, all she’d be doing was letting her go back to her old ways. All these dumb young people did was inconvenience her. Her time, town, parking, enjoyment. And what did she get in return? She got treated like she was the dirt underneath their shoes.