This cranky re-run is from March 2012. It had few viewers, but several commenters seemed to like it. That is what a re-run is all about, giving a lightly read post a second chance.
The other day while exiting the supermarket, I overheard the cart collector dude cursing up a storm….to himself! It reminded me of a character at my workplace many years ago.
The 14th floor of our building housed about 300 workers. I knew about 100 by name. There was one worker who no one ever saw but everyone knew by name. He was called “Curser Dude.”
Curser Dude was never seen but often heard. He was heard in the men’s room bathroom stall. He cursed in the bathroom stall; twice a day.
For the sake of those readers who are easily offended and to avoid Google hits from those highly religious mid-east countries searching on “Old man buggers young piglets” I am using made up words; insert your own language as you feel appropriate…it will still not approach the foulness of the language used by “Curser Dude.”
Washing up in the men’s room you could not escape the tirade of Curser Dude's invectives comming from the bathroom stall:
“Friggin fraggin faffle mother fluffing bathtubs primps! I’m going to frag your pumple you cunk faced poffin sonofabuckle!”
These tirades would go on for ten or fifteen minutes. Everyone heard them from time to time, but no one ever saw Curser Dude. Curser Dude would not exit the stall if anyone was in the bathroom. No one ever hung around the bathroom waiting to see who came out to reveal who was the Curser Dude.
People were a bit afraid of Curser Dude.
As long as he was anonymous he was not a threat, but Curser Dude was scary!
One day while I was washing up after a visit to the John, Curser Dude started up from the stall.
“Trucking ballawig you can eat shizle you frumping artshome. I aughta rip your frizzle right off your snozin you stupin crunt faced guzzle hosed fragger. SHIMP FUNK CONCH CURNT BASTIN!!!
Suddenly the stall latch was lifted. Curser Dude did not know I was in the room. I tried to dry my hands quickly and beat feet outta there, but it was too late. Out of the stall came Curser Dude.
Curser Dude was a little surprised to see me, but he was not embarrassed and acted as if the cursing tirade never happened.
“Oh hi Joe how is it going?”
“Hector? Um hey Hector, you know, same old same old.”
“Yeah, me too, see you around.”
The Curser Dude was Hector.
Hector was about 5’4” tall and 25 pounds overweight. His wardrobe was 10 years out of date, he wore his pants above his waist, tucked his tie into his pants and his reading glasses hung around his neck from a braided string. Hector was the quietest most unassuming worker on the 14th floor. The only thing he ever talked about outside the stall was trains. He loved the NYC subway system, he rode every train everywhere. If someone needed subway directions they went to Hector.
Hector the train guy was Curser Dude. I never told anyone that I knew who the Curser Dude was. I never mentioned the cursing to Hector. I did not want to ruin the mystery, and I was afraid if Hector went postal he would look for me first.
We think we know people by their dress and demeanor, but there are secrets and there is mystery behind everyone.