Mr. Muscle…Loves Doing The Jobs You Hate!
By Postcard
Rating: - G. Humour.
Disclaimer: - The characters in this story are not mine and anything else Due South isn't mine either. I do not mean to infringe on copyrights held by any copyright holders for Due South. The story is mine (copyright February 2000 by Postcard on all original story content.) Please do not reproduce for anything other than personal reading without the written consent of author. This story is not written for profit and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.
Author's note: - Ever wonder what Turnbull might get up to when left alone in the Consulate? I did. And I also often wondered why Turnbull always seemed so happy doing tedious tasks. The answer to both of these questions lies here in this story. I got the title from a 'Mr. Muscle' oven cleaner advert, in which a scrawny, weedy guy shows how 'Mr. Muscle,' 'Loves doing the jobs you hate.' And I thought it sounded appropriate for Turnbull. <G> Also after seeing Turnbull in an apron it reminded me of Robin Williams in the movie 'Mrs. Doubtfire.' I just had to play on that vision a little and so I have used the 'vacuuming scene' from that movie in this story. And the song is 'Dude Looks Like…' by Aerosmith. So sit back, take this with a 'pinch of salt,' and let your imagination run riot; I did. BTW, it's set in the first Consulate. Hope you all enjoy reading this story and any constructive comments are welcome at postcard@manutd.com
As soon as the Consulate door closed, and Turnbull was all alone, out came his 'Walkman.' Securely attaching it to his Sam Browne and placing the headphones over his ears, Turnbull hit the 'play' button. Armed with a multi coloured feather duster, and clad in yellow rubber gloves and a pink frilly apron, Turnbull set off to do his chores as the lyrics, 'Dude Looks Like A Lady…' filled his ears.
* People may often wonder why I appear to enjoy doing tedious, menial tasks! Well, it's quite simple really; I make them 'interesting.' Te he he. For instance, "what do I use to clean all of the toilets in the Consulate with?" Why, Inspector Thatcher's toothbrush of course! You'd be surprised how good it is at removing all of the limescale and grime from the toilet bowl! Oh, don't worry, I wash the Inspector's toothbrush afterwards. I mean, I wouldn't want her dropping down dead on me or anything! But it keeps a smile on my face when she's been shouting at me. And what she doesn't know won't hurt her! Well, it hasn't so far anyway. *
Picking up the can of polish, Turnbull sprayed smiley faces into Inspector Thatcher's desktop. He then proceeded to spray various surfaces with 'Dragon Lady,' 'Iron Maiden' and other obscenities he would love to call her to her face; but didn't dare say. Doing a little 'two step' dance he glided around the room, wiping the surfaces over. Pretending the feather duster was a microphone, Turnbull sang into it, "what a funky lady!" Doing a quick twirl and throwing the feather duster from one hand to the other, Turnbull moved out of Inspector Thatcher's office and slid down the stairwell banister. Jumping off at the bottom and brushing himself down, he thought, * that's the dust moved from the banister. *
Feeling the need to bring a guitar into his performance, Turnbull turned on the Vacuum cleaner and zoomed around the Consulate; frequently pausing to pull the vacuum cleaner towards him and strum some imaginary guitar strings. Turning the vacuum cleaner off and moving into the ballroom, he turned the 'buffer' on. Singing, "oh, he was a lady," Turnbull stood on top of the rotating 'buffer' and was spun around on it as it cleaned the dance floor. Suddenly leaping off it, Turnbull sprung through the air, landing on his feet he dived to his knees and skid across the ballroom floor; holding onto the feather duster like a guitar this time.
Walking into the kitchen, Turnbull spied the stack of dishes that had been left for him to clean. * I'll leave them for when Dief gets here. There's no need to do any washing up when you've got Dief. I just give the dishes to him to lick clean. Yep, there's definitely no need for 'Fairy Liquid,' because Dief's tongue leaves them spotless and gleaming so brightly that they sparkle. And as for my culinary skills, a nice treat for them all is for me to bake a pie and substitute 'fresh meat' for a tin of dog food. Well, Inspector Thatcher is always going on about cost! Besides, none of them can tell the difference anyway. Not even Constable Fraser with his keen sense of taste and smell. I must admit, I was rather surprised that he didn't realise but he'll eat just about anything so…! He did however comment on the 'unique' taste, but I just said it was 'an old family recipe' and he seemed to accept it.
Speaking of recipes, if you want to add a bit of 'pazazz' or 'oomph' to a cup of tea or coffee, I generally give it a 'good kick' by adding brandy. It definitely puts the Inspector and Ovitz in a better mood. And 'lugi free' tea for Ovitz? I think not. My motto when making his tea is, 'one spoonful of sugar, one spoonful of spit.' I then heat Dief's half-used water, or remnants from a nearby vase (whichever happens to be the nearest at the time,) add the water, add milk (well past its expiry date of course!) Stir with a spoon that has previously 'accidentally' fallen into the wastepaper basket and serve. I do however draw the line at 'bogies' in his tea though. I save them for a birthday present for him, 'apple pie a la surprise'. *
His next chore of cleaning the windows was no problem to Turnbull with his gigantic children's water pistol. He just imagined that he was shooting at criminals while he blasted the water at the Consulate windows. Singing, "don't ever judge a book by its cover," Turnbull thought, * I'm glad they all do though, otherwise I'd never get away with it! Te he he. *