The Custodian

The Custodian

Let me just say that some losers are born to win but all winners will inevitably lose at least once. It is crucial then to keep moving and never be satisfied for it is misery that breeds ambition and contentment that kills it. This is what I say to comfort myself. I am a custodian.

In another life-actually within the last decade-I was considered a "world class musician" and a "model student". I worked hard and, despite having "special needs" and a physical disorder, I achieved honors in both high school and college. In my success, I was naive. College, I thought, was the last obstacle. Once you attain the coveted Bachelor of Arts, you will have your pick of any job relating to your major. This is not true, nor is the axiom that hard work will lead to success. This is a story of failure and nothing to read to your children.

After college, it took about two years for me to land a part-time minimum wage job as a custodian. I am in this facility. In this place it is dark and I stand holding an alarm code but I'm not really there. I am daydreaming. The girl from Finance:what was her name? Joni? I'm trying to decode her smile. Her eyes. If there is any ambition left in me, it is to stay long enough with this company to get next to her again. It's not that I could ever win her or be with her. I can't, but her smile...I need to see it again. I need to feel like I am worthy of someone's love, even if it's just a feeling.

Shit! The alarm is going off. I daydreamed too long and now my ears are ringing. Turn on the lights, put in the code, and stop that damned noise!

Dennis, the senior custodian who trained me, told me to watch for dead bodies. It does not surprise me that people find them. The things I've seen working for the parks are not fit for any story. I disarm the building and flick on the lights. Dusting, dry mopping, wet mopping, cleaning windows, cleaning counters...the list just goes and goes. It's like building a sandcastle you know some bored kid will kick over.

During my shift, I scooped a large rat out of the toilet bowl. I should've killed him when he bit me but I tossed him in the parking lot instead. Luckily, he was not able to bite through my gloves. I hope someone runs him over or a large bird carries him away.

On day two, I am back bright and early. Carolyn, the lady who works customer service, came up to me batting her eyes and shifting her hips. She approached me with the tone and general demeanor of an adult actress. She introduced herself as "Miss Carolyn" and told me her shift would soon be over. She invited me to have lunch with her. I smiled and told her a lie before walking into the closet. She doesn't hold a candle to the girl from finance.

The closet, as I would soon discover, was always trashed. People always take stuff out or leave things on; or dump garbage in the sink; or disrespect it in some other way. It always smelled like rat urine too. The garbage bags are cheap and often break. When they do, they squirt unknown and unmentionable liquids all over my clothes and elsewhere. These liquids leave stains and various odors on my clothes and this is how the facility supervisor saw me when he bumped into me in the restroom.

I will never forget day three. It started off with me telling a young couple to leave the park after I caught them having s*x in the parking lot. They were both blushing when I caught them. I felt bad asking them to leave but they simply couldn't stay. I ended up spending most of my shift in the parking lot putting used diapers and cigarette butts in a garbage bag. To avoid walking in mud, I decided to go through the building instead of around to dump the trash. I opened the rear exit and...what the..? Someone or something was blocking the door. I looked down and saw a man laying in the doorway. Here is my first dead body! That's what I thought anyways, but after nudging him with my foot, he moved, moaned and stood up. A thick wall of body odor and the smell of crack hit me. He waddled away. I saw the same man pissing on the sidewalk as I drove home that evening.

Now, I apologize for the break, but I must digress. As I stated earlier, I am a musician and, as you may have guessed, I aspire to make it my profession someday. When I came home, I discovered that someone had broken into my house and stolen my recording equipment. It took me a year of saving to buy it and it will take another year or more to rebuild and get back to that place. A place where my dreams looked real and my sacrifices seemed to pay off. When I bought it, I thought perhaps I was more than the person I had always been told I would be. I was more than the dumb servant I was treated like and more than the afterthought my family had always regarded me as. I can't put into words how I felt, only that it was like falling down a black pit. To save money, I decided to walk to work.

I found that a walk down the streets of the ghetto is like a walk down the streets of Paris. I went to Paris as part of a world tour with my college band. What the ghetto lacked in prostitutes and gypsies, it made up for in homeless and drifters. The desperation and hopelessness are the same.

I reached my work on the fourth day. This day, for whatever reason, seemed off. I could not put my finger on it. Carolyn was stressed about the Church group that was coming in some time between 10am and noon. She kept looking around and fidgeting. She would tap on her computer with her long fingernails. I asked her what she was worried about but she never said much. I have seen the church group on different days. The pastor's son was a young man about my age. He had soft features. He had the hands of someone who had never done a days work. I will not beat around the bush, I hated him. He always addressed me as "bud" or "champ" or some other condescending term and though I couldn't prove it, I believed he was the one who would leave feces stains on the toilet lid and shredded toilet paper on the floor. His smug and arrogant attitude made me want to choke him out. Anyways, he showed up at 11:30am with the rest of the congregation but instead of going in with them, he stayed behind to talk to Carolyn. I stay in the background most of the time and watch the day go by. Today was no different. I watched him talk to Carolyn. I listened to the hymns and the pastor give his sermon. They left, and as usual, they left a behind a mess. I guess they thought God was going to clean up after them but it's only me. When I cam back into the main lobby, Carolyn was not there. The pastor's son was not there either. I went out by the garbage compactor to throw away some bags and in the far corner I saw them. He had her cornered and was yelling at her. For the first time, Carolyn seemed to have lost her aplomb. Her confidence and seductive nature had vanished and all that was left was a terrified shrunken child. I do not know why he was doing this, but I needed to intervene somehow. I grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him away from her. He shook me off though and spit in my face.

"Don't you f**k with me you little b***h!" He screamed at me. "Go clean my s**t you f*****g loser!" I just stood there and stared. I wanted to see what he would try. He continued, "Leave us alone, the adults are talking." I smiled and replied that I hadn't said a word. I told him to leave and his face turned red. His right arm went out and I knew what was coming. I let him punch me once before I swept his legs and he collapsed in the grass. With my knee pressed against his sternum and my forearm against his throat, I held him there. Carolyn called the police and we both gave reports.

Day five came quickly. I remember feeling sick with anxiety. I knew I would probably lose my job because I had costed the park a loyal and paying customer. I, on the other hand, was just a low-level and easily replaceable custodian. No one cares about us because we have little power and make little money. We work alone and in the background. In my anxiety, I did not notice the mud and I slipped. I broke my nose. The blood and mud dripped down my clothes. My body ached and I was cold. Suddenly, it all came back to me. I remembered all the days spent in therapy. All the summers lost trying to keep up with my peers. Everything I had sacrificed was for nothing. All the times my father told me I was a disappointment. I had disappointed him and disappointed myself. I had failed but where was I to go? I took off my work shirt and decided to quit. Even Joni could not keep me there. Why would she even try? I got through my shift and at the end, the dreaded moment arrived. My supervisor showed up. Instead of firing me, he asked me how my week went. I couldn't stop laughing.

Suddenly I am alone again. I walk up the stairs to the finance department and stare at the empty chair. On her desk, the girl has a picture of herself and a young man. I take another look and I can't believe it. He is not a man. He is a woman and she is dressed in white. I had to laugh. It all adds up now. She is married. The girl from finance is a lesbian. This was her wedding picture.

So now, here I am with dirty hands to match a dirty mind. Sore and cold I turn off the lights upstairs before locking the doors to each department. One at a time, I turn them all off. One at a time, I lock the doors. There is no noise other than the beeping of the alarm that I have armed. The door will creak, the week will end, and before long it will all repeat again. This I know as I walk home.