One wall.
One endless shift.

Merv arrived for one night shift with a mop, a packed lunch and two teabags. One for him. One for his replacement. The office door said “Back in five.” He put the kettle on.

The office closed. The phone stopped ringing. His name disappeared from the rota, but nobody actually told him to go. His badge still says TEMPORARY. He polishes it every morning. It is the closest thing he has to proof that somebody expected him.

He rescued Sir Scrubs from a bin and made the mop his supervisor. He files complaints. Sir Scrubs says nothing. By Merv’s standards, this is the healthiest working relationship he’s ever had.

For a long time, the wall stayed clean. That was the worst part. Then the internet found the bathroom. A terrible drawing. A flying turd. A banana with terrible timing. Merv called it “a fucking disgrace.” He put the kettle on again.

He’ll swear at your masterpiece. He’ll mop it away. He’ll go arse over mop because someone weaponised a fruit. But every new mess means somebody came back. Under all that shouting, he’s started bringing the second teabag again.

He doesn’t want a statue. Just one clean tile for his mug, and someone to say “Goodnight, Merv” before they leave. Right. One nice tile. Maybe tonight.