White Van Man Foot Infatuations Ch. 03

Ch. 03: A meeting of the Captains.

The first week of Tod Ford's three-year vocation at Conham Car Wash to tribute White Van Man went by without a hitch - an organised procession of dirty white vans to wash and white-socked White Van Men to worship.

Tod had washed the white vans that pulled into the yard for their pre-booked ten-minute time slot and, afterwards, kissed the white-socked soles of the drivers in humble tribute. Sometimes, there were co-occupants of the white vans, and Tod was permitted to kiss their white-socked soles, too. Tod then stood ramrod-straight to salute their departure from the yard - and maintained his rigid respectful posture to receive the next white van and White Van Man.

It was a workday routine that Tod took to like a duck to water. Tod arrived early for work every morning and stayed behind afterwards for the same reason: to assist his Master Emir and sometimes his Mistress Irma with their mobile phone calls.

And now, Tod felt fulfilled but exhausted as he jet-water rinsed the final white van of his Monday - Saturday, 7:00 a.m. - 7:00 p.m., six-day week.

The white van was a Peugeot Boxer, booked in for the Saturday evening 6:50 - 7:00 slot. Tod Had washed dozens of the popular roomy vehicles this week - the Boxer was a favourite of White Van Man.

Tod called out to White Van Man. "All done, sir! Your beautiful Boxer is as bright as a button! And now, sir - may I have the honour of tributing you?"

Emir Yilmaz, the ever-watchful proprietor of Conham Car Wash, called out through his opened backroom office window, which looked out into the yard. "John, Tod has done a fine job of washing your van! John - fair's fair! Let Tod pay his tribute to you! And John - there's no need to be shy if your feet hum a bit!"

John opened his driver's door and stared at Tod. The driver of Tod's last white van of the week said, "So - it's true? Do you want to kiss the sole of my white-socked foot? For letting you wash my van? In tribute?"

Tod said, "Yes, sir! But I will not unduly detain you! Just four foot-pecks - in tribute! To demonstrate my respect and admiration for White Van Man."

John said, "Tod - you are getting a name for yourself in White Van Man circles. I do local parcel delivery, and I could not believe my ears. White Van Men, saying they had phoned or online-booked a ten-minute time slot to have you wash their van to serve them - and kiss their white-socked feet in homage. So, all right - fair's fair! Tod - take your pick! Left sole or right sole? Which of my white-socked feet do you want to kiss?"

Tod said, "Thank you, sir! Mr. John - the preference is yours if you have one."

John reached down to unlace and remove his left trainer. John said, "Um ... this is damned awkward. All right! Done!" John then extended his left leg, presenting the white-socked sole of his left foot to Tod. John said, "All right - there you go! But Tod - I warn you! It's going to hum a bit! But Tod - go on! Pay your tribute! Kiss the sole of my left foot! If you must!"

Tod said, "Mr. John, sir - I must. To redress the balance, albeit slightly, between your highly productive daily endeavours in challenging road conditions to support the economy - and my woefully unproductive easeful study at home in the evenings to keep the Government off my back for not working. Mr. John, sir, you should know that you are paying for my harebrained Government-funded three-year further-education philosophy course with the taxes deducted from your hard-earned pay."

John said, "Well - if you put it like that! Tod - I guess you owe me!"

The weather had been hot all week and even warmer today - a scorcher. For the last six days, Tod had closely observed and memorised the eye-catching characteristics of the white-socked soles of dozens of White Van Men. And now, Tod studied the white-socked sole of John's chosen left foot - his hardworking clutch foot. The foot John used to depress the clutch pedal hundreds of times a day to put his pacy and spacy Peugeot Boxer through its gear changes on the busy roads and congested streets of Greater Manchester. Tod guessed that John was a size 9. Tod wondered how many days John had worn these white socks. Too many. Tod knew all too well by now that, in general, White Van Man did not change his socks daily. The white cotton/synthetic mix material was tinged a lemony yellow in places and was threadbare in others, with little and not-so-little holes and tears through which Tod could see the pale or reddish-pink skin of different parts of John's clutch foot. Tod looked at the sweat-dampened areas at the heel, the ball of the foot, and under the toes. Tod evaluated John's left white sock and knew it was another winner. Tod would ask John to make one of his new-for-old deals - his twelfth this week. John's characterful white socks would make a superb addition to his magnificent collection. His fast-growing accumulation of framed-behind-glass label-identified dirty white sock exhibits on his Wall of Fame at home - his shrine of unfailing daily knee-bound homage to his served and tributed White Van Men. First and foremost of these White Van men, his dirty-white-sock exhibit, given pride of place as the centrepiece on his Wall of Fame to praise and honour first, was his inaugural White Van Man at his 'job interview' trial: Mr. Rob - Rob Daly.

Tod said, "Mr. John, sir - thank you! And, in future, Mr. John - please feel free to instruct me to remove your trainer to save yourself the needless trouble. White Van Man is my hero! I am happy to be his lowly servant!"

John said, "Tod - I will! And Tod - you can redress the balance a bit more! You can hold up my leg while you kiss the sole of my foot to save me the needless strain! Link your fingers - cup your hands under the back of my heel!"

So - John got the hint. A note of authority had entered John's voice. Like many tax-paying White Van Men who had used Tod's services this week, John had cast off his reticence and now had no compunction in taking advantage of his fawning servant. John was becoming more assertive in exploiting this freely admitted freeloading tax dodger. Now, John did not care that his foot might hum a bit - he agreed with Emir that White Van Man did not need to be shy with Tod.

Tod said, "Yes, sir! Happily! Mr. John - please relax!"

Tod cupped his hands, and John placed his heel into them and relaxed his leg to let Tod support its weight. The sole of John's white-socked left foot, freshly freed from its trainer, was less than a foot away from Tod's face, and it did hum a bit, but he did not shy away from inhaling the pungent aroma through his nose because to breathe in through his mouth would be to disrespect his hero. Tod had another appraising look at the white-socked sole of John's clutch foot, taking in all of the characterful sights again before making his tribute. Tod then leaned forward to pay his respect. The footy fragrance of John's in-his-face white-socked sole was strong now - but Tod compressed his lips and inhaled it through his nose as, not hurriedly and hastily but slowly and solemnly, he kissed the bottom of John's heel, his arch, the ball of his foot, and under his toes.

Tod then lowered John's left foot to rest on the top of his trainer on the floor well of the Boxer. Tod said, "Mr. John, sir - thank you for allowing me to wash your superb van and pay my humble tribute! It is a great honour to kiss the sole of one of the feet that, I am sure, controls this spectacular vehicle with consummate ease and great expertise."

John said, "Tod - no problem! And thanks for the compliment! And Tod - I will be back next week for more of your great service! Van wash - and your tribute!"

Tod produced from his pocket a three-pack of white socks. Tod said, "Mr. John - I look forward to seeing you again soon! And, Mr. John, sir - may I propose a humble offering, advantageous to yourself and profoundly meaningful to me? In exchange for this three-pack of white socks, would you be interested in gifting me the threadbare dirty white socks from your feet? I will value and revere them. As they are, I will label them with your honorific title, frame them behind glass and add them to my cherished collection of similar gifted donations from White Van Man. I will display the white socks that have served you so well and for so long on my Wall of Fame at home. And for every remaining day of my three-year bond with Emir Yilmaz - separately, with the ten-second exclusivity I accord to all of my prized dirty-white-sock exhibits - I will go knee-bound to bow to your threadbare dirty white socks in homage."

John grinned and said, "Tod - you have got yourself a deal!" John opened his hands for Tod to place his three-pack of white socks into them.

They were Tod's last pack - but he would buy a dozen more three-packs on Monday. Given the OK by his Master and his Mistress, since it was a sale and at no monetary loss to them and yet advantageous to their customers, Tod had purchased a dozen three-packs of white socks from Emir and Irma's promotional sale to offer to his selected White Van Men - to swap for the more 'characterful' pairs of white socks from their feet.

John said, "Tod - you do it. Help yourself! Take off my socks! And Tod - don't forget to pay your ten-second knee-bound daily homage to them!"

Tod said, "Mr. John, sir - thank you! I will treasure your dirty white socks forever! And be assured - I will adhere to my avowed daily obligation to solemnly revere them exclusively."

Tod unlaced and loosened John's right trainer, removed it, and then pulled John's hole-ridden white socks down and peeled them from his feet. Tod carefully folded John's pair of threadbare, sweatstained, dirty white socks separately and put them in his pocket.

John declined Tod's customary offer to White Van Man to wash his feet in his soapy water bucket and then to hold open a pair of his new white socks to assist him in inserting his washed feet. But John accepted Tod's offer to lace up his trainers after inserting his bare feet into them because to do so himself from his driver's seat would be 'damned awkward'.

John started the engine of his Peugeot Boxer and gave Emir a wave. Tod stood to ramrod-straight attention to salute John's departure, and John acknowledged Tod's ceremonial salutation with a blip of his Boxer's horn.

So, that was it - the end of Tod's first week of unpaid and undocumented but not unrewarded or unrecognised work in Emir's half-price self-wash canopied yard.

Emir Yilmaz called out from his opened backroom office window. "Tod - come into my office. Your phonecall-footrest service is required."

So - it was not quite the end of his first week.

Tod said, "Yes - Master!"

Tod was now out of hours - but more than glad to oblige. After all - his time was better spent here, serving his Master Emir and his Mistress Irma, than idling at home studying up on his evening online philosophy course.

Tod moved eagerly to assist his Master with his phone call.

***

Tod entered the private side door to Emir Yilmaz's backroom office and saw that, along with his wife Irma, Emir had visitors - three young guys.

Emir was seated with his feet up on his desk, ankles crossed, and the bare heel of his uppermost foot tapping against the open heel of his backless white Croc - open-heeled white Crocs, the adopted footwear of the six Yilmaz brothers. Irma was seated by Emir, her feet up on his desk with her ankles crossed and the black leather flat of her uppermost foot dangling and swinging from her milk chocolate-coloured toes.

Irma gave Tod a look that he couldn't quite read. Something was afoot.

Tod had assumed his summons was to attend his Master. But maybe not. On his Master's say so, there had been many other times this week when he had served as phonecall-footrest to someone other than his Master.

But that was by the by - his Master had told him his phonecall-footrest service was required, so Tod first kissed the bottom of the uppermost exposed bare heel of his Master and of his Mistress Irma and called her 'Highness' in due reverence before going to the darkly smudged part of Emir's backroom office wall to station himself where, away from his desk, Emir had the best view of what was happening in the van-wash yard. The football-size stain on the whitewashed wall, about three feet above the floor, from Emir, habitually resting the sole of one bare foot there and switching to his other while making lengthy calls on his mobile phone.

Tod took up his position: sitting on the scratchy fibres of the industrial carpeted floor with his back to the wall, his legs wide open, the back of his head against the greasy dark patch about three feet above the floor.

Under the naively mistaken notion that such service-availing visitors would be few and far between, to demonstrate his gratitude for facilitating his van-washing service to White Van Man in his self-wash yard and enabling him to pay his humble tributes, Tod had offered to provide his service as a phonecall-footrest in his Master's office not only to his Master but to extend his provision to anyone on his Master's say so from Day One. But Tod soon realised his mistake. Emir had taken Tod at his word - and began taking Tod for granted. And so, during his first week of unpaid and undocumented work, Tod had served as a phonecall-footrest to whoever and whenever Emir created a ten-minute window by cancelling and rearranging a White Van Man's booking - to the White Van Man's disgruntlement at his inconvenience, and to Tod's disappointment at losing yet another White Van Man to serve and tribute and to his chagrin at being given another third-party visitor to cater to at his phonecall-footrest station. But Tod was now lying in the unkempt bed he had made for himself - and would do nothing to smooth it out. And so, from his recent experiences, Tod thought he had a good idea of what to expect from his Master's three swarthy visitors as they eyed him intently.

Emir said, "Tod - meet three of my Captains. They are here for our weekly meeting - and your name came up as the first item on their agenda."

The three young guys stared downward at Tod in frank appraisal as he sat with his back to the wall, his legs wide open, waiting to serve. Tod looked back at them, nodded to each, and they nodded curtly back to him. They seemed okay - but Tod knew they wanted to exploit him. Why else would he be on their agenda? Word had got around about Tod - and they all wanted in on it. Tod looked at their feet - carwasher workaday mud-streaked dirty, the once vibrant colours of their rubber flip-flops faded, the footbeds worn down almost flat from overuse - things did not bode well. One of the young guys, the middle man wearing the green football shirt and red shorts, saw Tod looking at their feet. He reacted by resting the back of his left heel in the depression on his down-at-heel green rubber flip-flop to let Tod have a good look at his upraised bare sole. He smiled in anticipation at the look on Tod's face.

Irma saw this and laughed delightedly - she knew what was afoot. Irma crossed her ankles to dangle her black leather flat from the milk chocolate-coloured toes of her other foot and looked at Tod sitting on the floor at his wall.

Tod was out-of-hours but was glad to oblige his Master and Mistress, not only on their time but on his. But now he was out of luck and could not - or would not - disoblige a third-party visitor or visitors who came here to his wall with their mobile phone to stand between his wide-open legs and turn their back on him to use his facilitation on the say-so of his Master or Mistress.

In his naivete, it was the lumpy bed that Tod had made for himself. Tod was reaping the bumper harvest he had sown. Tod could have drawn a line, set a limit, and insisted on some foot service no-nos. But he did not. In his eagerness to please and to show his gratitude to Emir for facilitating his service to white-socked White Van Man in his canopied self-wash yard and enabling his foot-kissing tributes to his road warrior heroes, he had been permissive - too free and easy with his voluntary phonecall-footrest facility.

The young guys were three of Emir's car washers from Eastern Europe. Their natural brown skin was tanned darker from the unusually long spell of hot weather that had baked Manchester and the rest of northern England as the jet stream refused to budge. Football fever had gripped the workers of Conham Car Wash, so Tod could guess the nationalities of the three guys by the replica football shirts and shorts they wore, sold to them at a fraction of the retail price by Rob Daly. The second-legs of the World Cup Qualifier two-leg decider play-off matches were due to be played over the weekend, and everything hung on the aggregate results. Their countries were all involved - Albania and Bulgaria clashing on Sunday evening while Romania played Portugal. On their sun-bronzed feet, they wore the coloured rubber flip-flops that Emir's brother, Mert, supplied to him to give to his car washers to wear in warm weather. Tod thought the Captains were long overdue for some new flip-flops.

Tod recognised them. They were all standout guys - but the middle guy in the green football shirt and the red shorts stood out the most.

From his usual vantage point, where he had observed White Van Men cleaning their vans in the yard that Emir set aside for van drivers to self-wash their vehicle for half-price but with a full-price receipt to reclaim tax, Tod had also watched these young East Europeans at work last week while he built up his nerve to ask Emir for his 'job' in the yard. And, from Emir, Tod knew them now to be 'Captains' - or three-man-crew team leaders. It explained their animated gesticulations and shouted terse orders to their two wash sponge-wielding underlings at their respective car wash stations, of which there were six. This stern treatment and harsh haranguing of their two underlings applied particularly to the green-shirted Captain, who emanated an unmistakable air of dominant authority.

Emir said, "Tod - I have twelve Captains. I have to keep everyone happy if I want a happy ship. So, I have an equal spread of three Captains from each of the four nationalities of my workers: Turkish, Albanian, Bulgarian, and Romanian. My twelve Captains crack their metaphorical whips to keep the car washers under their supervision in line - because they need to be. These three Captains are elected to represent the car washers of their respective nationalities. Facing you from left to right: Captain Aron from Albania, Captain Dimitar from Bulgaria, and Captain Luca from Romania. For this regular end-of-week meeting, now concluded, I represented the interests of my Turkish workers. Tod - I'll come to the point. To reflect their status as Captain, my three-man-team leaders have asked me to grant them a new, daily privilege. They say it will improve productivity. With such a motivation to drive them, more of my car washers will aspire to Captaincy through diligent hard work. Tod - can you guess the attractive new daily entitlement my twelve Captains want?"

Tod said, "Yes - Master. I think so. Your Captains have petitioned you to grant them a Captain's privilege: a daily ten-minute window at my phonecall-footrest station. Master - as I have told you, I will perform my humble service to anyone on your say-so. Also, I have good reason to anticipate this request from your Captains. One of your Turkish workers, Captain Suliman, told me what was in the wind and gave me the heads-up. Captain Suliman told me that if you grant your twelve Captains their requested new daily privilege and extend to them my phonecall-footrest service, he will look forward to visiting my phonecall-footrest station here in your office and resting his foot on my face for ten minutes every day when he phones home to friends and family in Istanbul. I told Captain Suliman I would welcome him with open legs, as it were, and thank him afterwards for using my service. So, I have had time to think through the practicalities of my extended usage. Master - please permit me to outline my proposed workabilities. You have twelve Captains, and I work a twelve-hour day. So - and not forgetting your personal, priority phonecall-footrest use of me - at a rate of one Captain per hour, the lion's share of my service is still mostly devoted to White Van Man. But the daily uses made of me by your twelve Captains will not be so numerous. Some of your Captains will be on their days off, freeing up more ten-minute windows for White Van Man, your eminent self, Mistress Irma, or another third-party user at your or Mistress Irma's invitation. Master - I will neither forget nor renounce my pledged three-year bond to serve, obey, and revere you and Mistress Irma. You say - I obey. I know my station - as it were. So - in-hours or out-of-hours, I will sit here with my back to the wall in Your Eminence's office and serve as a phonecall-footrest anytime to anyone on yours or Mistress Irma's rightful say so."