[ IP ] It started as just another day at the factory

Glen grew up into a short, scrawny man. He didn ’ t know it but his scrawniness made his life much easier than it could have been. Had he grown up more sturdy, his employer, Allen Paint, would have tasked him with loading crates of paint onto trucks- a very demanding task. The men who load crates of paint onto trucks get stronger the more they work but the crates of paint never get any lighter and there ’ s never any less paint to load. However, the men who load crates do have the luxury of taking bathroom breaks at will. Alternatively, the men on the conveyor belt have to wait for their breaks that come at established hour-and-a-half intervals. 
 
 Today, Glen struggled with his less demanding job and wished he was one of the guys loading crates of paint onto trucks. Glen couldn ’ t take it any longer. His bowels felt as if they would soon burst, or, even worse, betray him. Sweat began forming on his forehead as he continued hammering the tops onto paint canisters again and again as they followed one after another down the conveyor belt. While he hammered, Glen racked his brain for solutions. He could only think to either stop the belt or ruin his light blue coverall uniform. Both solutions would make his supervisor quite upset. Glen figured the latter option would be his supervisor ’ s preference although Glen would very much prefer the former. 
 
 “ Drew! ” Glen called down to the man six feet to his right hammering cans that Glen did not. 
 
 “ What? ” the man wearing light blue coveralls stretched over his overhanging belly responded. 
 
 “ I got ta go to the bathroom. Now! ” 
 
 “ We just had our break ten minutes ago, Glen. ” 
 
 “ I know, and something developed in my intestines since. Something fierce. ” “ Christ. You can ’ t hold it? ” 
 
 “ Not for another eighty minutes, no. Probably not another five. ” Glen hoped Drew would have some insight. Drew had canned paint for the past ten years- growing from a weak little man like Glen into a weak little man with a potbelly. Drew had to have ran into something like this at some point. 
 
 “ What ’ re you gon na do? ” Drew asked without looking up from the cans he hammered. 
 
 “ I was hoping you ’ d know what to do, ” Glen said and looked up to Drew for a moment with a gleam of hope in his eyes before looking back down. 
 
 “ If you really got ta, you ’ re gon na have to stop the belt, but I hope you can just hold it. We ’ re already behind this week, and Sup ’ Albernose isn ’ t all too happy. ” 
 
 
 
 “ I know. You can ’ t keep up if I step away for a bit? ” 
 
 “ I-I really don ’ t know. ” Drew said hesitantly. 
 
 “ Well, can you try? And if you can ’ t keep up, stop the belt then. ” 
 
 “ Glen, I don ’ t know. I don ’ t wan na be the one to stop the belt. ” A loathsome look came over Drew ’ s face. 
 
 “ If they give you a hard time just tell them what happened. ” 
 
 Drew didn ’ t respond. He continued hammering thinking. Glen looked up quickly and saw this. Glen gave him another moment to think and then looked up again. Drew still hammered and thought. Something advanced in Glen ’ s intestines. Glen decided Drew would just have to deal with it, and he turned and broke into a sprint for the bathroom. 
 
 “ Hey, wait! ” Drew called. 
 
 “ You got ta figure it out. I ’ m sorry! ” Glen hollered over his shoulder. 
 
 Glen flew past the other hammerers on the line, gusting them with a gentle breeze. When he arrived at the restroom end of the belt, he read a sign posted on it OUT OF ORDER. Glen yanked at the handle ferociously but to no avail. 
 
 Glen turned and sprinted out the open garage door past the men loading crates that were filled with cans of paint by the medium-sized men at the end of the conveyor belt. The men loading the crates onto trucks watched him whoosh off to the smaller factory next-door. 
 
 The factory next door appeared more like a barn than a factory. The structure stood big, sun-bleached red, and old. Inside, children assembled dolls and painted their faced with paint from the factory Glen hammered the lids on cans at. Glen rushed in through the open garage door in back where the bigger children loaded crates of dolls onto trucks. 
 
 Upon entering, Glen hoped his working at the paint company next door that supplied them would earn him enough rapport to use their bathroom. He rushed into one of the aisles where two children were painting doll heads on posts that lined wooden racks that walled them into their aisle. 
 
 “ Can you tell me where the bathroom is? ” Glen asked in a hurry. 
 
 The little boy and girl turned to look at him. The boy ’ s face took on a look of confusion at the sight of the riled up man in light blue coveralls. Less off-put by the man, the girl responded, “ Down by the trucks. You passed it on your right when I saw you run in. ” 
 
 Glen felt a strange presence. He could feel it surrounding him. At first he interpreted it as simply feeling out of place for rushing into another factory. The intensity grew and Glen began feeling nauseous. He figured the feeling came from a bad case of food poisoning. 
 
 Suddenly Glen ’ s awareness shifted to the faces the children painted on the doll heads. He could now place the feeling as supernatural-like uncanniness. He stepped closer to one of the racks and removed one of the heads from its post. He looked it over closely and emotion overflowed inside him. His intestines made a movement that shocked him out of his entrancement with the doll head and he stuffed the thing into the big pocket on the side of his coveralls and sprinted to the bathroom. 
 
 Glen rushed in with sweat running all over his face. Little children hustled and bustled inside and it made him uncomfortable but he made his way into a stall nonetheless and decoveralled. Sitting on the vile seat without the paper barrier he always implemented but had no time for, Glen removed the doll head from the pocket of his coveralls on the floor and admired it. 
 
 Sniffles and tears developed as he stared at an uncanny reproduction of his daughter. His daughter lived for a very short time after birth, but he would never forget her face. Glen couldn ’ t decide whether to understand this as some sort of sign from God or some kind of delusion. He felt hysterical and ashamed that this came to him while he sat on the toilet. 

