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Tuesday, June 14, 2011

My Time As a Janitor by Alexander Pragmar Dorney

            Do you ever really think about the people that have to clean up after you? I didn’t either, until I began my job as a high school janitor. I didn’t even know what I signed up for when I applied for the job. I figured I would be assisting with moving boxes and packing things for the planed renovation. I was wrong. As a student of the custodial sciences, I learned the secrets of how school stays in clean working order and how this job can eat away at your mind.
            The trash that is carelessly thrown out of the car window must be picked up by someone. The papers and debris spread around the school floor, must be picked up by someone. Those fucking trays left behind by rude students in the cafeteria, must be picked up by someone. I am among the poor souls who are left to clean the mess. Now I don’t think that all students are anarchist rebels who want to live in world of squalor and despair, but there are plenty to go around. They poison the otherwise tolerable student body. Those students are like the first skid mark on a clean pair of underwear which keep getting dirtier and dirtier after every taco bell binge. In my opinion, those individuals are on the lowest level of society. They are the criminals of courtesy. In some ways, high school is a lot like life on the outside of these cold concrete walls. The good students are respectful to the authority, and their employers. They do their work, don’t complain, and go home, presumably to enjoy a frozen dinner and watch Cosby Show reruns. They do not cause many problems in the society. Sure, they have a few slip ups, but who doesn’t get satisfaction in not flushing the urinal or clogging the toilet with paper towels? Otherwise, these citizens do not interfere with my job, or the jobs of other school employees. The lowest level of society is something else entirely.
           They make my work a fucking nightmare. They drop deuces on the floor of the bathroom. Have you ever had to serve a tour in the Vietpoo War? I was offered a cash bonus from my coworkers to exterminate an enemy threat in the bathroom deep in the bowels of the school. His name was Turd Ferguson, the baddest piece of shit on this side of the county. Literally. Someone dropped him off right on the wall of a bathroom stall, and splattered on the floor. His only purpose there was to mock me, and cause regurgitation of the 7-11 Cheeseburger Big Bite I ate only moments ago. In the end, I defeated the defecation, making the world a safer place. I then subsequently blew my earnings on cigarettes and alcohol, to try to erase the image of Mr. Ferguson that has been burned into my very essence. So far my efforts have been unsuccessful.

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