Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Mop Mop Mop

Swimming lazily on the hallway gleam,
The fresh wax hurls my sneakers in mod;
My damp mop a magic, pivoting rod,
Balanced and swirling in a sanitized dream.

Swish. Swish. Swish. My mop glides over the freshly waxed tile so freely. The subtle flicks of my wrists, feet and hips remind me of dancing. Suddenly I back into my bucket. Stop. Dip. Squeeze. Kick the bucket further down the hall. A bad wheel causes it to veer into the lockers with a loud Bang! and water splashes over the sides. No damage. Swish. Swish. Swish. I'm rather pleased with my hall mopping method. Everyone has their own and mine is particularly satisfying. Isaac would not teach me how to mop a hall. He said I had to find my own way. When I have a good bucket that I'm used to (someone stole mine last week), I can kick it down the hall the correct distance to ensure an even rinse (there's no describing the sense of accomplishment. It is the blue-collar equivalent of wastepaper basketball). I've compensated today my kicking the bucket a bit harder to cause it to veer and crash in that vicinity. Admittedly, kicking a bucket of water into lockers has its own rewards.

Carl has called a meeting during first break. Although this will be my first one, I've been informed by several lifers that this has become an almost weekly occurrence, and furthermore, that each one is more bizarre than the last. "Flaming Hitler" Jon named him recently. Even Isaac laughed at that one, and he doesn't seem the type to go for jokes about national socialism and homosexuals. Jon's wit is infectious. And his dope is killer, man. Fucking killer. Whoever said custodial work is boring had the wrong boss and coworkers. Gun nut Billy would fit right in here. Shit, I wonder how ol' Billy is doing? Maybe I'll look him up later. For now, though, Swish. Swish. Swish.