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“Fuck, why didn’t I go to the lounge?  At least I wouldn’t starve to death in there” Barstow reflects.  The fear is starting to set in.  Sure, all of these bastards are dead.  But, what if?  You never know.  Sweat begins to run down his face and he looses all feeling in his hands.  Oh, god, please help me.  What if one of these bastards hoists themselves up and says “Barstow, you no good nigger, why didn’t you ever let me out of this vaul?  Now you gonna die”.  Or worse yet he may have to end up eating one of these dead sons of bitches if he’s locked up in here for days.

He races frantically to one of the padlocked cabinets and rips the door off the hinges.  He’s looking for SOMETHING.  Anything.  Searching feverishly he comes upon a vial of Vistaril.  “Goddamn nerve pills” Barstow spits.  Well, maybe these little green pills can knock me out until the power comes back on.  Down the hatch goes 1000 mg of pure ass kicking nerve medicine.  Barstow is out within 10 minutes.

   At 9 p.m. the next night he wakes up and discovers that all of the generators have kicked in and the power is back on.  Nobody has a clue what caused the power to go out in the first place.  Barstow feels like an emancipated slave.  “Free at last, free at last, thank god almighty I’m free at last” he exhorts.  He kicks the cadaver room door open and races for the time card machine to clock out.  “Motherfuckers better not try to stiff me for overtime” he says to himself.
Barstow is just about to run out the door when his Supervisor, Mr. Heem, sees him.  “Wait!  Where do you think you are going?  Your shift starts in 30 minutes.  If you head out that door you might as well not come back in” the supervisor yells.

Barstow looks at his watch.  In his fervor to leave he thought it was 9 a.m. but it was 9 p.m.  After surviving an entire night locked up with those corpses it was time for his regular shift to start.  Barstow contemplates taking a pair of channel locks and pulling out Mr. Heem’s teeth one by one, but then thinks better of it.  Who would hire someone that got fired from a job of cleaning up some dungeon like Lab Tech?  That place wouldn’t fire anyone, unless there was a good reason.  No sir, I don’t see any possible way that we could hire you. Besides, you are black; you people don’t get any second chances.

So, fighting off the urges to cause utter carnage Barstow goes to the bathroom.  After a good bowel movement and a quick face washing he goes to get his assignment.  On his clipboard there is only one assignment for the night.  Assistance in Section C, room 5 is requested.

These places aren’t just slung together.  No, there is a rhyme and reason for their organizational layout.  For example, you wouldn’t want an aborted fetus to end up in the water pollution testing area.  Can you imagine the horror inflicted on some young lab technician expecting a water sample and then opening a vial containing some type of miniature space creature lying there looking back at him?  That’s not the kind of thing that you can just put out of your mind.  Imagine four years of college and hard work that lead to that scenario?

Section C is where they test bodily fluids.  Blood, sperm, piss, mucous, and saliva are sent here daily.  Each room is climate controlled to make sure the testing will not be tainted by any outside elements.  Each room has it’s own backup generator that will start automatically if there is a power outage situation, that way the samples will not be compromised.  We must have some professional standards damnit!