[That’s my Job, 724 words, Genre: Dark Humour]
* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn
It started off with just one of them. One of the personal trainers at the gym was infected with HIV. It was a terrible state of affairs and the poor soul deliberated between soulful platitudes of misery, foregoing thought on the relationship that had caused the infection. It was so painful. The pain of the relationship, the pain that somebody could do that to another person was just so traumatic. Nobody could really suffer all of this and live. Yet,somehow, through strength and perseverance the personal trainer managed to carry on.
He grew bitter at the world. Knowing that he would never be able to love again. He was a homosexual and it was an absolutely horrendous and dismal fate that had been cast before him. He felt so alone, so isolated. He had to report these sort of things to the workplace and health authorities. And once he had reported these things, they checked off all the boxes and assured him that it would be fine. They told him that unless it was a wilful passing of body fluids. Then the infection would not spread. They gave him the necessary medication to prolong his lifespan and things continued on as normal. Or as normal as things could be with an expiry date hanging over your head all the time.
He felt so isolated, so alone. All he needed was human contact. Someone that he could share this burden with. Even his co-workers, the other personal trainers, made him feel so alone. And that is when he decided, within himself, to wilfully spread the virus. But how to do it? It would take vast amounts of his own body fluids to be passed on to another willingly. Even if he were to have unprotected sex there was no one hundred per cent chance that the virus would spread. Then it struck him. The idea. The thought. The steam room! If he were able to somehow extract his own body fluids into the steam room, then whoever sat in the steam room would contract the virus through the inhalation of the vapor.
Was he sick? Was he twisted? Or was he just alone? Many men become sick and twisted through their loneliness and the virus working itself away at his immune system played no small part in his decision to do what he needed to do. And so he pissed. He pissed gallons of urine into big plastic bottles. And then hooked up his urine, which was largely detoxified of odour, up to the steam room of the gym that he worked in. Then he invited one of his co-workers to have a steam room session with him.
The other personal trainer, could not object to the offer. Being a co-worker and co-workers must be friendly to one another unless they want to create a hostile working environment. So the other personal trainers, a six foot tall bald man who specialized in strength conditioning. Sat down and had a steam room session with the other personal trainer infected with HIV. As they sat there, they began to talk.
“Y’know, I’ve been feeling lonely lately.” Said the one infected with HIV.
“Thinking of the good things to come.” The other sang, thinking they were singing a song.
“No, it’s not that. You see, I’m infected with HIV.”
The other one was agasp, he didn’t know what to say, “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay.” Was all he could manage.
“But I don’t feel lonely anymore. You see, I pissed in the steam room vapor and all this air that you’re breathing in. Well, now you’ll have HIV too, and I won’t be lonely anymore.”
An argument ensued. Followed by a severe beating from the strength trainer upon the trainer with HIV. But now they both had HIV. Distorted, twisted and in some crisis of mental health. They decided to play the trick on other people.
They sat in the steam room together with another unwitting victim. The original HIV infected personal trainer laid it all out before the victim. And finished off with the line, “… so now you have HIV too.”
The new party was confused and traumatised, “Wait, who pissed in the steam room vaporizer system?”
The personal trainer, specializing in strength conditioning, raised his hand and in an upbeat tone replied, “That’s my job.”