While I was still attending high school, one of my summer jobs was as a shipper/receiver for a company that sold small wooden barrels of nuts and bolts.  There were two other employees:  John Dukas (his real name altered) and his secretary.

John Dukas owned the company.  His office was on the ground floor of a small building along with his secretary’s office.  The hallway between the offices had stairs leading to the basement.  The basement served as the warehouse where I worked.

John Dukas was a good boss.  Occasionally he would work along with me to get a shipment ready.  That is how he tore his clothing.  I vaguely remember, but I think the reason I called him “Dinky Dukas” had something to do with him being oblivious to his damaged business clothing.

I do not remember ever seeing Dinky Dukas in business attire that was not torn or ripped.  He had a yellow sports jacket that he liked to wear.  It had a right ripped lower pocket with the pocket’s flap hanging down.  He had holes in the elbows of his other jackets and rips in his dress pants.  All of his business clothing was damaged in some way.  Yet, he was oblivious to his appearance and carried on as if nothing was wrong.  He would meet with other business people in his office wearing his damaged clothing.

Dinky Dukas was married.  Did his wife not mention anything to him when he got dressed to go to work?  Perhaps not.  Perhaps she thought wearing damaged clothing was normal.  Perhaps Dinky and his wife inspired the Punk-rock- ripped-jeans fashion.  Who knows?

 

Dinky and his secretary had a nice washroom outside their offices.  There was a gloomy and drab washroom in the basement.  This gloomy and drab washroom was big enough to hold a gloomy and drab toilet and nothing else.  No sink.  The toilet sounded normal when you flushed it.  It would howl once the toilet tank refilled.

Oh, how I loved to hear that toilet howl!  I could go to the bathroom anytime I wanted to.  Often, I would go and flush the toilet to hear it howl.

I don’t know whether Dinky Dukas could hear the basement toilet flushing, but he never asked me why I went to the bathroom so much.

I often think of Dinky Dukas when I see someone wearing ripped jeans.  He must be dead by now.  Did they bury him in a ripped suit?

As for the howling toilet?  I have made it a life-long quest to find a toilet that howls.  My life will not be complete until I find one.