Have you ever worked in an abrasive kitchen environment? I’m not talking about some small town pizza place where any braindead minnow in the gene-pool of the town could step up to be shift manager at. Nor am I talking about doing prep work at some fine dining gimmick restaurant. I’m talking about the trenches, when the tickets come from the printer so fast you start to make a song out of the buzz. I’ve made whole albums before. The kind of filthy environment where you’re on your feet 10-12 hours a day with nothing to show for it by payday.
That’s the kind of shit I work, often 6 days a week. Its not easy work, but its also not horrible work compared to every other job I could be bothered (or was too scared) to work. After 8 years, I can tell you I’ve been 35 years old since I was 23. My job is so unremarkable that it can wrap me up in a choke hold and slam me to the ground for trying to think what it would be like if I were to try bettering myself.
The reason I’m projecting this onto the internet, onto strangers is because…Well, I’m in the trenches. Maybe in a different way than I described earlier. These trenches are a lot deeper. Even more muddy and slippery than I could ever have imagined when I took this job at Gordons Gourmet. As I’m writing this- friend, I am in a deep spiritual journey into the unknown. I feel it in me as I’m slicing effortlessly through the filet mignon, I can feel the fear of uncertainty while I furiously toss lettuce in a huge red container full of water and dried older lettuce stuck to it.
I am not the person to know the things I know, so maybe if I get the story out there the information will find its way into the right persons hands. Alright. This is how I found out about the PAS, or the Pancake Appreciation Society.
Now, I’m a pretty laid back kind of guy. Mostly because I’m tired from my job. I’m a really stupid guy, too. Mostly because I’m tired. It works. I work. A lot. I had been working at Gordons Gourmet for 3 years by the time these events happened. During those 3 years like many people who stick around the workplace for long enough the ones who could hang on became good friends. Brothers, sisters. Whatever. The small circle of people that didn’t contribute to the restaurants turn-over rate were family. I’m not talking about the kind of family the general manager would label us during meetings to try and act like he feels human emotion. I’m talking I go out for drinks with half the crew 2 or 3 times a week.
The person I knew the best, and knew the longest was a wizardly fellow named Marty. He had a long face, wavy long hair that hung on both cheeks and glasses that you could swear had perfect 90 degree angles in the frames. Very happy guy, very talented musician. One night about a week ago after yet another long long night of drinking, him and I decided to take our leave from making stupid jokes with each other at the bar and longingly hoping that one day we would be able to talk to a girl. I don’t think ANYONE can be a great drunk driver, but if you saw me I think you’d say that I wasn’t a bad one.
I made Marty sit in the back during the drive, he eventually fell asleep. I flip my left turn signal and hit the brakes way too hard 3 separate times leading to my turn causing him to slip down between the backseat my the console on my side. Marty is now awake.
“Whhw what did he- how did, hey how did you get there ?” Marty so valiantly manages to barrel out of his mouth trying to comprehend his surroundings.
“You going home, Marty? You tryna have me take you home? You got gas money though right?” I try my hardest to hold my drunken bout of laughter.
Marty, like the soldier he was- manages to stumble out the words: 1124 Woorshire Rd
“Why you going all the way out there? Your girl kick you out?”
Marty managed to pull his face and rest it upon the side of my seat. He pointed his bony finger left. “Izzzzat way.. New home for Marty”
This notion he made caught my wander. “What, so you break up with your girl and move out or no?”
“Forever.” Marty croaked
“Forever? Forever what? What’re you talking about Marty?”
“Forever home for Marty…now” Marty’s voice has gotten incredibly low. I mean, he was drunk but this was strange. I’ve never heard him croak out his words like this. Hell, I’ve never seen a drunk person talk about themselves in third person.
“You’re really a tit, man.”
“Supple…tit..” Those were the last words Marty managed to dribble out before I pulled into the place he gave me the addy for. Ill be honest, I was surprised by the irony of where he brought me. I knew something had to have been wrong with him. maybe he just got the address wrong or slurred a number I didn’t pick up on or something. My car was parked in a dirt covered parking lot that was overseen by an enormous factory. It was dark, I was drunk. I didn’t even want to think about the cops coming and seeing us as trespassers.
“Marty I don’t think this is where you wanted to go, huh?”
“No no no, this izzit I got.. im sure this is my plaze,,, forever hoem right there..big building and with…its got the.. withthe yellow rooms…”
Do you remember what I said earlier? I’m stupid, because I’m tired. I also happened to be drunk this night so whatever I would normally point out as a red flag suddenly became something to be ignored.
“Alright I’m walking you right to your door ok?”
“Carry me to the forever home Joel..” Marty sighed drunkenly “Just go easy on thegrip and wherr youhold me…hurzt…”
I open the backdoor of my car and see Marty sprawled out across my backseat. His body shiftless, almost like he had been a talking corpse this entire time. Eventually his bloodshot eyes and pale face looked up at me and I was able to help him out of the backseat. I make it about 5 yards lugging him and he suddenly starts to moan and grunt in pain. Every bound I take is excruciating for him. Soon enough the whimpers develop into screaming.
I’m trying so hard to keep shit together. I’ve never seen him act this crazy even when we blackout (although I don’t remember much from those experiences.) “You got your keys, buddy? You ok?” Marty hands me his keys, basically impersonating a machine full of stuffed animals the way he craned his hand down onto my hand. “Jesus, is it raining why do I feel so wet?” At this point im balancing Marty with one arm and unlocking the door to this spooky ass factory at the same time.
I hear the click and immediately fall face first because I put too much of my weight in front of me. This causes Marty to fly out in front of me. During the fall, his face clipped the doorframe and down he went after me. It was pitch black in the factory. I lay on the floor and gather myself. We both start laughing hysterically. I’m laying on the old dusty wooden floor and looking outside at the pale moonlight intruding through the doorway. When Marty and I are laughing its either because he did something stupid or we both did something stupid.
Almost immediately after the fall I was able to hear a steady dripping/dribbling sound like a leaky pipe that was coming undone so the stream was getting more consistent. Marty was still laughing, I balance myself and walk over to him.
“Here, get on up buddy” I say reaching my hand to his in the dark.
“Ha-ahaha..” Marty puts his hand in mine and as I try to heave him up, he doesn’t follow through instead his hand slips out of mine very quickly and thumps on the ground as he attempts to balance himself. almost like it was lubricated. In the dark I couldn’t see what exactly what was going on but right then I noticed that Marty’s hand never left…my hand.. I was still holding onto something. Or that’s what it felt like. Marty is still drunkenly giggling like a white girl.
I bring the object in my hand up to the moonlight shining through the doorway and..it was horrifying. It was Marty’s hand. Not his HAND but..all the skin off his hand. Just slipped off right into mine and it took me a good 10 seconds to notice. Marty’s fingernails were still attached to the skin. I could almost wear it as a glove. The sheer shock of what happened caused me to whip the fleshy glove into the outside area. I don’t know what to do. Me throwing the hand caused some excess blood to splash on my face.
Marty begun to stand up, I could now see him perfectly in the light.
“I’m so,, dunk rye now” He slurred and looked at me. What I saw, I would never like to see again. Marty clipped the doorframe on his way down and it looks like the doorframe took about half of his face with it. I could see his nose dangling from a strip of flesh that managed to hold on for dear life. His teeth, gums and right eye including his nose-hole had been exposed. The blood I’d heard only seconds earlier was pouring down what was left of his face when he stood there. like nothing was wrong. I felt like I was in a dream.
“What the fuck…what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Whhw what? talking? what about?”
“YOUR SKIN IS HANGING OFF YOUR FACE MARTY! DO YOU HAVE PAPER SKIN OR SOMETHING??” I want to explode and leave and take my friend to the hospital.
“Oh,,,” Marty looks disappointed. Its weird.
“Come on, lets go ill call 911.” I say as I take a step towards him and towards the outside.
“No no…forever home, buddy. Remember?”
“We gotta get you medical help Marty!”
“no no, ill be okay. Ill be sweet. Need to see yellow man in the yellow room.” He sighs and suddenly he forces his hands onto my shoulders and grips me so tight I can hear my Carhart jacket ripping and tearing under the force of his grip.
“What’re you doing Marty let go of me?!”
“Thannkzk for the driver dride hoem, joel”
Marty begins shoving me towards the door. No matter how hard I try to fight back his grip to just too overpowering to truly make an escape. He places me outside the door. I can feel his breath coming straight through his teeth on the back of my neck. “Don’t come back Joel, they’ll find you and cook you nice.”
Those were the last words I ever heard my best friend say after he slammed the iron door on me. Left outside in the dead of night. In the cold. I stomp back over to my car, grab my phone and dial 911. Fucking insane. I don’t even know what to think about this. My bestfriends face just slipped right off and he was….totally okay with it.
“Yes, hello I’m Joel Deadlund I’m at 1124 Woorshire Rd and I believe my drunk friend is having some sort of medical issue and I just…” my mind is fried. “He wont let me help him can I please have an ambulance?? Somehow he locked me out of this place he took me to, I’m worried.” And I was scared. A few cop cars later and I’m being told that the situation is being taken care of and I’m told to go home which I obliged. As long as I knew Marty would be okay I was too drunk, stupid and tired to stick around and ask questions.
Marty wasn’t at work the next day. Or the day after that. Many hours of frustration and trying to get ahold of him myself later- I tried contacting the police in order to find more information about what was going on with Marty. They told me that though they were able to access the building, they did not find any evidence of Marty even being there. No blood, nothing.
I knew that couldn’t have been the case, I mean I was there the whole time. I saw him, faceless- missing the skin on his hand. Why didn’t they find his skin glove? I mean, I through it right outside the doorframe. After a polite “Fuck you” to the investigator and an abrupt slamming of my phone I decided that if I wanted to know what was going on, I was most likely going to have to find out myself.