Lesson Thirteen: That Sucks!

     Six rows of five desks each.  Each desk covered with small containers of glue, colored construction paper, scissors, letters and a container of colored glitter.  All in preparation for today’s project in Mrs. Hanberry’s class. 

     The children will be so excited.  This is my favorite project of the year.  Creating posters of what they think they’ll be like in 20 years.  It’s always a surprise to their parents to see what they think they’ll be like and interestingly some of them turn out to be right.  These second graders are so imaginative and fun!  So thought Gladis Hanberry. 

     Although thought by many of her peers to be a prude, serious and somewhat harsh, deep down inside she was human.  She even chuckled on occasion, but never in the presence of others.  Her second graders were her brood.  Like a mother hen, Gladis kept a close watch on her “chicks”. 

     Above Gladis’ classroom, Thornton Greenlove stood talking with Jon E. Mopp.  They were in the attic space where all of the HVAC systems were housed.  Thornton was a long-time friend of Jon.  He’d been having some problems with one of his heating units and since he knew Jon had been the head custodian at that building years before, he thought that maybe Jon could shed some light on this antiquated system. 

     Jon gladly came by to see what he could do.  Standing on the catwalks that spanned the attic and covered much of the lowered ceiling that covered each room below, Jon discussed with Thornton what problems he’d been having.

     “I just can’t seem to get any heat or air to blow into Hanberry’s classroom,” Thornton said. 

     “Have you checked the overhead vents to see if she’s covered them with anything?” Jon asked.

     “Of course knot head.  That’s the first thing I did!”

     “What about the heating unit?  Does it turn on?”

     “Yup.  Works just fine.  I checked the schedule and right on cue it turns on at 8:00 a.m. daily.”

     “But no heat or air,” Jon queried?

     “Nothing.  Neither heat nor air.  The unit runs, but that’s it.”

     “How about the heating coils?  You know we’ve replaced these old electric elements more than once over the years.”

     “Um, I don’t think I checked them.”

     “Well, let’s take a look.”

     Jon and Thornton set to work to remove the access panel exposing the guts of the heating unit.  After shutting off the electrical disconnect they opened the unit.  Once open the blower motor, fan and heating elements were exposed. 

     “Theres the elements there,” Jon said.  “They look okay.  I don’t see any broken coils, no charred areas that might have been shorting out and no areas where the elements have aged and are ready to break.  Let’s turn it back on and see if it works.”

     “Okay.”  Thornton got up and walked back to the disconnect.

     “Okay, turn the power back on,” Jon told Thornton.       

     Pushing upwards, Thornton energized the heating unit.  A few electrical clicks of relays opening and switches activating and within seconds the unit started.  The motor started turning and the elements began to glow orange. 

     “Looks good,” Jon exclaimed.  “Nice and hot.  Plenty of heat.  Put your hand over this opening.” 

     Thornton leaned down to feel the heat rising up out of the unit and accidentally knocked a piece of paper he’d been writing notes on down into the unit.  It fell between the blower and the heating elements so that the movement of air immediately blew the paper into the elements. 

     “Crap!” Thornton yelled. 

     Without thinking he reached into the unit to grab the paper and instantly a sizzle like frying bacon emanated into the air.  Thornton yelled and jerked his bubbled knuckles out of the heating unit.  Smoke rolled lazily off of his hand and the smell of burnt hair filled the air. 

     “You okay,” Jon asked?

     “No.  I burned my knuckles on the element.”

     Jon took a closer look and could see several lines on Thornton’s hand where the coils of the element had burned his skin.  Jon grabbed his bottle of water he’d been sipping on and poured some over Thornton’s knuckles.  The pain subsided a little, but it was going to need some serious attention soon.  Pouring water onto a rag, Jon laid the wet rag across Thornton’s hand.  Thornton admitted it felt a little better.  And then they both heard a pop!

     Turning around Jon and Thornton were horrified to see the paper that was caught in the unit burst into flames.  Smoke curled down the ductwork toward Hanberry’s room and more smoke filled the attic.  The smoke detector overhead continued to blink green but neither of them knew for how long.  Quickly the paper burned up and with Jon and Thornton waving their arms frantically as if being attacked by bees the smoke finally cleared enough that it didn’t set off the smoke detectors. 

     “Close call,” Jon said. 

     “I thought for sure the fire department was going to show up,” Thornton agreed. 

     “Well, the element seems to be fine. The motor’s running and the fan is turning.  I don’t know why the air isn’t getting into the room.”

     Thornton shook his head and said, “I don’t know either.  Something is blocking the air flow.  We have air movement here, but not in Hanberry’s room.” 

     The bell rang below them indicating the end of recess.  A cacophony of tinny voices and the constant slamming of doors drifted up through the ceiling to the waiting ears of Jon and Thornton. 

     Both men sat staring and thinking.  Then Jon’s puzzled face turned into one of clarity. 

     “Did you check the dampers?”

     “No.  I just assumed they were open.  The computer controls that.”

     “I wonder if that’s the problem.  Think about it.  The unit comes on at the right time, the motor and fan run, the elements heat and the air flows.  The only thing left is the dampers.”

     “Sounds logical,” Thornton mused.

     “If I remember right,” Jon said more to himself than to Thornton, “the damper is just off the catwalk and over the lowered ceiling.  It’s just before the duct junctions out to the four diffusers in the room.”

     Shining his flashlight out over the lowered ceiling, Jon was able to find the damper motor about three feet off of the catwalk.  Pointing to it he told Thornton, “it’s right there.  See that black unit on the side of the duct work?”

     “Oh, yes.  There it is.”

     “If that’s not opening, then the air won’t flow.  Can you override it from the computer?”

     “Yes, but I think you can just jump the control box up here.  That should open the damper motor without getting into the computer.”

     “Great,” Jon exclaimed.  “Let’s do it.  It may just be that simple of a solution to our problem.”

     Jon positioned himself so he could see the damper motor while Thornton jumped the control box.  Carefully reaching in, Thornton took a jumper wire and connected one end to the terminal marked “voltage.”  He then touched the other end to the terminal marked “damper open.”  When he did a loud “pop” occurred and a flame leapt out of the control box and engulfed Thornton’s head.  Jon whirled around in time to see an orange ball of fire roll off of Thornton’s head and into the rafters.  The fuse in the box blew and the lights flickered.  Thornton turned toward Jon with singed eyebrows and patches of his hair missing.  Smoke curled off of his head and the stench of burning hair filled the attic. 

     “What in the world!” Jon cried as he leapt next to Thornton. 

     “I don’t know what happened.  I just jumped from here to here.”  He pointed at the control box. 

     “That’s not the 24 volt terminal for the damper motor.  That’s the 120 volt power for the motor.  You probably fried the damper motor and maybe the control board.  But are you okay?”

     Thornton shook his head.  “I’m fine.  Just embarrassed and blackened.”

     Jon looked his friend over and thought about some of his own accidents he’d been involved in. 

     “Well, let’s see what we can do.”  Jon clambered back to the edge of the catwalk and looked at the motor.  “I think I can reach it from here,” he told Thornton.  Leaning out over the edge of the catwalk, Jon carefully tapped on the damper motor.  Nothing happened.  He tried again and dropped his screwdriver onto the lowered ceiling below.  It fell straight down and punctured the ceiling.  Sitting dead still, Jon waited for a holler from below.  All he heard was Gladis talking to the kids.  No one had seen or heard what happened.  Jon looked things over.  He’d have to loosen the shaft and open the damper by hand. 

     “Hey Thornton.  Hand me that Crescent wrench and those Channel locks.  I’m going to try and open this manually.”

    Thornton handed Jon the tools and held onto Jon’s belt so he wouldn’t crash through the ceiling below.  After a few grueling minutes of hanging precariously over the ceiling and manipulating the set screw, Jon felt the shaft shift in his hands.  Carefully reaching behind him he handed the tools to Thornton.

     “Okay Thornton.  I’m going to twist the shaft and see if we have air movement.”

     “Okay.  Ready.”

     Jon slowly twisted the shaft and suddenly the damper flew open.   Jon’s coat that was lying on the top of the duct work disappeared down the duct.  With a “woosh” it was gone.  Thornton’s hat also tumbled off the unit and sucked down the vent.  The suction was so strong that dust and scrap paper on the floor were being sucked into the ventilation system.  As Jon and Thornton stared in amazement they suddenly heard screams from below.

     Jon turned toward Thornton with a horrified look. 

     “What happened?”

     “I have no idea.”

     Both men jumped up and made their way quickly through the attic and downstairs.  Running down the hall they rounded the corner and opened the door to Gladis’ room.  Inside they saw 30 shimmering creatures and one very angry mother hen.  The sudden blast of air had upended all the containers of glue and splashed them all over the children.  At the same instant the glitter had been dispersed throughout the room like a dust storm and was stuck to all the kids from head to toe.  Pieces of construction paper protruded from children’s hair and clothes and Mrs. Hanberry was covered with glue and dirt.  The dirt was from the flower pot that had been sitting on her desk.  Jon and Thornton tried not to laugh.  Gladis made sure they didn’t.  Gaining her composure, she gathered the chicks together without saying a word and marched them out the door.  As she passed by Jon and Thornton who were still snickering all she said was, “Have fun cleaning up this mess.”  Jon looked at Thornton and said, “it’s your school.  Have fun!”

     Thornton gave Jon a dirty look as he left.  Still chuckling, Jon walked outside to his car and left.  Halfway to the high school Jon heard a thump and his car was suddenly difficult to steer.  He stopped and got out to look. His front right tire was flat.  He wasn’t laughing anymore.

“So, What Do They Do?”

When you hear the term “custodian,” what images are conjured up in your mind?  Cleaning?  Cleaning? Cleaning?  While cleaning is the mainstay of the custodian’s job, it also entails much more.  Like what?  Let us see.

During a typical workday, a custodian may do a variety of things.  If they are a head custodian, they have the primary job of organizing the rest of the custodial crew and making sure that everything around the school is taken care of.  Their job may also entail opening the building in the morning, taking radio calls on any number of problems or questions, scheduling events in the school, making sure that custodial help is available for extra events or events outside of the school day or handling repairs on such things as plumbing, electrical, wallboard, machines, lights, doors, floors or any number of items that are necessary to keep the building functioning.  They also help monitor or clean the lunchroom, coordinate various events and meetings with administrators and teachers, deal with problems, make phone calls to outside vendors for different needs, order supplies, coordinate work orders with maintenance, handle building specific maintenance and upkeep issues and more. 

Those custodians who work either a swing shift or night shift have the main responsibility of cleaning the entire building.  But more is involved than just cleaning.  They may have to set up for events, deal with the groups using the schools, clean their assigned areas, clean up after any sporting events, handle problems or emergencies at night, secure the building, prepare it for the next day’s activities and so on.  While the head custodian may organize and schedule all these events, the later shifts usually do the actual setting up and taking down of them while still working to handle and expedite their normal work requirements. 

Because of staffing and funding, the custodial staff usually cannot clean every room every night.  Most, if not all schools are cleaned on a rotation basis.  That means that rooms are cleaned every other night.  Depending on usage, some rooms are cleaned nightly, but most are rotated.  Bathrooms are always cleaned nightly, garbage is always dumped and hallways and entry windows are usually cleaned regularly.   When other events interrupt the nightly routine, especially sporting events most notably in the secondary schools, rooms may get knocked out of sync for a few days.  The custodians do their very best to accomplish all their cleaning and the handle the other interruptions throughout their shift, but it is often a huge challenge. 

“At least you get the breaks and summers off,” is an oft stated comment by many.  However, this is not the case.  Custodians are hired as 260 day employees which means they work year-round.  True, they do get all the holidays off and the Friday of spring break, but the rest of the time they are in the buildings working.  During breaks minor cleaning jobs may be done that can’t be done during the school week.  Painting may be done, maintenance items taken care of, HVAC filters changed and units checked and so on.  During the summer, the entire school is cleaned from one end to the other.  Rooms are cleaned top to bottom, carpets shampooed, floors stripped, polished or both, windows cleaned, furniture moved as required, rooms moved when necessary, maintenance of buildings done such as pressure-washing, painting in or out, HVAC filters changed and units inspected and maintained, pumps and motors greased and checked, repairs done, and more.  Often times, due to the usage in our schools, this must all be accomplished by working around summer school, outside groups, meetings, teachers coming and going, administrative needs and more.  That’s why the custodians are usually working to accomplish this huge task right up to the day school opens. 

As you can see, custodians do more than just clean.  They must be multi-talented, versatile, people-friendly, flexible and organized.  To accomplish all that must be done and to keep the school buildings presentable for all users, the custodians do their very best to make everyone happy!    

Excerpts from a Custodial Diary

(This is just a sampling of actual events that have occurred as a Head Custodian.  There are many more.  The timeline is fictitious.)

Day One:  School started today.  Busy running around getting teachers and students settled in.

Day Three:  Graffiti found on bathroom stall.  I called security so they could take pictures and document the writing.  I then cleaned off the graffiti and ending up removing some of the stall paint in the process.

Day Ten:  Responded to a call about a plugged toilet.  Found an orange plugging the opening once I got through the mountain of toilet paper, seat covers, paper towels, and other unmentionables on top of that.  Disinfected the tongs, bucket and plunger and discarded ten pounds of debris twenty minutes later. 

Day Nineteen:  Received a call about a water leak in a classroom.  Upon arrival, I found the water fountain twisted sideways and the water line under the sink twisted and broken.  The students all looked wide-eyed and claimed innocence as the teacher attempted to discern the responsible party.  I shut off the water, cleaned up the leak on the carpet and put a note down on my maintenance list to replace the water line.

Day Twenty-Five:  Security called me.  A student had broken the glass on a fire extinguisher box.  An accident, it was claimed.  He was rough housing with another student and “brushed against it” and the whole thing just fell out.  He was shocked it was so fragile.  Security will bill him for it.

Day Thirty:  The radio crackled with a request to help a teacher who couldn’t get into her room.  Arriving, I found a piece of wood jammed in the lock.  The group of kids waiting to get into the room cheered in unison believing they would get out of class.  I produced my Leatherman and tweezers and working like a professional locksmith carefully removed the wood pieces.  Sadness filled the masses as they entered the classroom.  The teacher shut the door, her countenance anything but happy.

Day Thirty-Six:  Monday morning.  Someone had fun over the weekend attempting to repaint some of the school.  Beautiful colors of blue and red decorated the walls on the front of the building.  Dropping all other duties and responsibilities for the morning, I found the tan color originally used to paint the building and spent my morning in the sunshine painting over the damaged areas.  Fortunately I have lots of extra time every day to add in extra jobs like this.  (Ha)

Day Forty-Eight:  A teacher caught me in the hall and said there was some powder all over the back hallway.  Arriving, I found a fire extinguisher had been discharged.  A fine yellowish powder covered the floor and windowsills, doorknobs, drinking fountains and garbage cans in a radius of about 20 feet.  I retrieved my vacuum and tools and spent a half an hour cleaning up the mess.  I then took the extinguisher to my office to have maintenance recharge it.

Day Fifty-Nine:  The office called.  Someone had gotten sick in a bathroom.  Entering the room, the sour odor of vomit filled the air.  I opened the stall door to face the contents of someone’s lunch not just on the toilet, but also on the walls, floor, stall doors and toilet paper dispenser.  I guess people figure that’s what custodians are for although I would think that they’d be more responsible than that.  Locking the door, I hooked up a hose to the spigot under the sink and hosed the bathroom down following it with a thorough washing with disinfectant.  I left the door locked for the remainder of the day.

Day Seventy-One:  Thursday morning.  Someone threw a rock through a classroom window during the night.  The police were called and they took a report and examined the damage.  When they finished, I vacuumed up the glass and covered the window with a board until the window company could come and replace it.  I’m sure I’ll still find some pieces of glass over the next several weeks in cracks and crevices inside the classroom.

Day Eighty:  Someone used a drinking fountain as a chair.  Now it’s bent at a slight angle from the wall and the water dribbles over the edge when it is used.  I removed the cover and shut the water off.  A work order is on its way to maintenance for this repair.

Day One Hundred:  The wind is blowing hard.  Our lights have flickered several times.  I’m expecting the power to go out any………..

Lurking in the Lunchroom

I stand, purveying the room full of people like some Native American standing high on a cliff overlooking a valley full of early American soldiers.  I watch, intrigued, wondering, pondering as the melee of humans interacts with one another, most oblivious to my presence.  I move slowly from one side of the room to the other, monitoring their actions, watching their antics, considering their mischief.  From experience I know how they think.  It’s a game, a game of wits, a game of chance, a game of “can I get away with it?”  Curious eyes dart from one table to the next as these humans, young humans, look for their next target, their next victim, their next love. 

            Whispers drift from the tables like steam on a cold December morning while boisterous outcries like wounded animals cause a cacophony of sound to fill the room.  Moving slowly, my eye is attracted to a young male full of mischief who sits waiting and watching.  His hands lie hidden beneath the edge of the table, a plastic catapult at the ready filled with peas from the his lunch.  His face is solemn, a face of innocence as he watches his prey two tables away.  I stop to watch this interplay of hunter versus hunted waiting to see if he will notice me 20 paces behind him.  His eyes focused, his attention riveted on his unknowing target, he fails to sense my presence. 

            Time ticks slowly by, the lunch period quickly coming to a close.  The hunter becomes agitated, nervous, antsy.  His patience is growing thin.  Finally his target moves.  He aims, slowly moving his hands to the precipice of the table top and with one swift motion releases the tiny green balls.  They sail over the heads of those sitting around him.  They laugh, heads thrown back in jocularity unaware of this action.  The balls hit their mark, a tiny splatter of green ooze drips from the face of his target.  Immediately he gets up, his face stoic and stern, his attention now focused on others in the room, his nonchalance giving him away.  I circle the table, tapping him on the shoulder.  He turns, his face a face of innocence, a look of surprise emanating from his eyes.  A discussion ensues, his innocence pleaded before me.  His steely eyes begin to tarnish, a crack of guilt slowly emerging.  Still, he stands his ground claiming he’s been framed.  I get on the two-way and call for backup.  Security arrives.  A brief explanation is shared and after a short trip to the security office, video of this young man’s exploits is shown to him.  His concrete demeanor melts like snow on a hot day puddling on the desk in front of us.  Eyes drooping, body slumping, he admits his error.  I leave him in the hands of the security “god” and return to the lunchroom.

            The bell has sounded.  The room lies empty, except for a few piles of garbage here and there that dot the landscape.  Wandering through this maze of tables, I pick up the few items that have been left as souvenirs by thoughtless youth or by those in haste who have been oblivious to their garbage-toting responsibilities.  On one table I find a unique sculpture of oranges, grapes, a milk carton, toothpicks, half a sandwich and some raisins that looks remarkably like me.  I stop to chuckle and think to myself, they are watching me!  

Lesson Twelve: Hung Out to Die

            Jon’s eyes adjusted to the dark.  Turning his flashlight to the path ahead, minuscule specks of dust drifted through the light beam like tiny sea creatures in a shaft of sunlight piercing the surface of the sea.  Surrounding him were walls covered in dust.  The ceiling overhead lay no more than a couple feet away.  The floor was covered by dust, debris and animal carcasses, small ones to be sure, but nevertheless, carcasses.  Jon pointed his beam straight ahead.  He reached up and turned on his headlamp and adjusted it as well.  A long, dark tunnel greeted him.  He was in one of the areas behind some classrooms in the school that led to an array of conduit, duct work and plumbing pipes. Jon was on a mission to find out why water was leaking into the women’s staff bathroom behind the toilet.  He’d already checked all connections and plumbing in the bathroom itself.  Still, water was creating a puddle on the floor daily.  Jon was determined to find the cause. 

            In order for Jon to reach his destination, he had to work his way through a maze of tunnels and intersections.  As was typical, the engineers did not see it necessary to create access points to areas of major usage in the building.  They figured that once things were built and sealed up they would never fail.  That looks good on paper, but in real life that was definitely not the case.  A simple access door near the fixtures in the bathroom would have sufficed, but instead, the only way behind the wall lay some fifty feet away and down a labyrinth of compact tunnels.

            Jon had entered this catacomb via a custodial room.  One of several access doors throughout the building was to be found here.  Straining his neck and turning his head around, Jon could see the light from the custodial room shining brightly into the tunnel behind him.  Taking a deep breath of particle-laden air, he trudged forward.  About twenty feet in, he came to a side tunnel.  Straight ahead the tunnel made a sharp ninety degree turn and then ended abruptly at a ladder that went down one floor to other areas.  Jon needed to turn left. 

            Tiny dust clouds swirled up behind him as he walked to the next T intersection.  Reaching it, he looked left and then right.  Were he to go left, he would again run into a ninety degree turn that would terminate at another ninety whereupon he would be greeted by a ladder that went up one floor.  He didn’t need to go that way.  Turning right, Jon made his way over old pieces of contractor wires, cigarette butts and other rubbish.  Shuffling along, Jon kicked over an old Coke can that echoed loudly through the tunnel.  Conduit, pipes and duct work were all part of the maze and now and then Jon found himself ducking, twisting and high-stepping over the inconvenient placement of these items.  After walking another ten feet or so, Jon stopped at the point where the water pipes for the women’s bathroom disappeared through the wall.  This was the spot he’d been looking for.

            Since the tunnels were constructed to a minimum width, turning to squat and work on anything in them was always a challenge.  In an effort to save money, the engineers figured that tunnels two-feet wide were plenty wide enough to maneuver in and repair anything that might be in need of repair.  Did these guys ever walk through their drawings come to life?  Obviously not! 

            Jon twisted his body sideways and placed his back against the wall.  Using his headlamp and flashlight, he began to scrutinize the plumbing to find the tell-tale leak that was making his life miserable.    Carefully following the pipes, Jon scanned them from bottom to top.  The pipes for this toilet came from overhead where they wended their way throughout the building.  At a T connection, the water line dropped down, turned and went through the wall.  It connected directly to the toilet on the other side.  Jon looked closely at the connections by the T joint and the 90 degree elbow that turned it toward the wall.  He didn’t see anything dripping, but he did notice a buildup of hard water calcification around the T joint.  About the same time, the toilet flushed on the other side of the wall.  Jon looked back up in time to see a small spot of water beginning to grow and glisten around the edges of the calcification.  It slowly ran down the pipe and onto the 90 degree elbow.  Jon watched as it dripped on the floor by his feet.  It was then that he noticed a slight discoloration in the dust where water had puddled and dried many times over.  The water stain butted right up against the wall and disappeared underneath.  That’s where the water was getting into the bathroom. 

            Jon heard the faint click of a door shutting and then the slight rustling of someone in the bathroom.  Before they could flush the toilet again, he took out his large pipe wrench and carefully turned the pipe that connected to the T fitting.  The pieces of calcification fell off and into Jon’s eye.  Stopping and mumbling, he gently brushed them out and blinked a few times to make sure they were gone.  Once convinced he could see clearly he went back to tightening the pipes.  The pipe turned just a hair before stopping.  He waited.  In a few moments he heard the toilet flush.  Quickly, he scanned the pipe and all connections.  Nothing dripped.  More commotion and the bathroom door shut again.  Since school was in the process of being resurrected for another day of activity, several of the staff were using the facilities one after the other before school started.  He watched and waited.  Again a flush.  No drips.  This was great!  A first time fix instead of problem after problem.  Jon waited through a few more flushing cycles and decided he’d fixed the problem.  Packing up his tools he turned to go.

            Trudging back to the intersection, Jon stopped and looked to his left where he’d come from a bit ago.  He thought for a moment and then set his tools down.  He decided he’d check a couple other things while he was here since it has been awhile since he’d done so.  He walked another ten feet and made a 90 degree turn to his right.  Going another thirty feet he turned right again.  The tunnel terminated at a ladder that went up ten feet to another level where the maze continued on.  Jon climbed.  Toward the top of the ladder, the opening narrowed where the ceiling from the lower tunnel turned and went vertical thus becoming a wall behind Jon’s back.  As he passed the point where this occurred, Jon’s sweatshirt snagged on a loose piece of metal and ripped.  Jon stopped and backed down to try and release his sweatshirt.  Instead of it releasing, it just pulled his sweatshirt higher over his head as he descended.  When he got low enough, he reached overhead and tried to dislodge it from the metal.  Unfortunately, the metal snag was such that it acted more like a fish hook.  It had a small bur on it wherein his sweatshirt had easily gone underneath the metal, but wouldn’t come out.  Jon pulled a little harder trying to avoid ripping his sweatshirt completely.  When he did, the sweatshirt became more entangled in the metal snag.  Jon pulled again, this time more aggressively.  The sweatshirt wouldn’t budge.  Frustrated, Jon jerked hard on his sweatshirt and figured he’d end up with a hole in it but at least he’d be free.  When he did, he slipped off the ladder and found himself hanging by his sweatshirt some ten feet off the ground.  Looking like a piece of shucked corn whose husk had not yet been removed, Jon’s body hung in the air, his sweatshirt around his head and his arms frantically trying to reach the ladder.

            Jon kicked his feet wildly in the hopes that the movement produced would not only loosen his sweatshirt but also swing him into the ladder whereupon he could grab hold and climb down.  The more he kicked and flailed, the more tightly his sweatshirt became ensnared.  Now that it had bunched up around the metal bur, his sweatshirt was more likely than not to stay there permanently.  Instead of it holding on by a few threads, his sweatshirt was holding on by hundreds, if not thousands of threads.  It was now like trying to rip a rope in two instead of snapping a piece of string. 

            Jon stopped moving and thought about his situation.  Craning his neck to look out the top of his sweatshirt with his arms tangled overhead, Jon figured that maybe he could gently swing himself into the ladder.  Easily and slowly he began to move his legs like a pendulum back and forth gaining momentum until he could feel his toes touch the ladder rungs.  With each swing, his feet went a little farther past the rung until he eventually was able to feel his heels touching the rungs.  On the next swing, Jon dropped his feet over the rung so that his heels locked against the back side of the ladder.  Jon now found himself at a forty-five degree angle.  His feet were locked in the rungs and his hands and arms were entangled overhead within the confines of his sweatshirt which was bunched up and securely fastened to the metal snag on the wall.  It was at this point that a small spider dropped down from the ceiling and decided Jon’s bare chest would be a great place to play!

            At first it was a minor irritation like an itch that he couldn’t scratch.  Then he noticed it moving.  This was more than an itch.  As he wiggled his body to dislodge whatever was irritating him, the movement unseen to him continued apace.  It went from one side of his torso to the other in rapid succession.  In fact, the more Jon moved, the faster the spider ran.  Agonizing over this development, Jon’s voice joined the fray by mumbling and grunting in hopes that the noises might help in the removal of this tiny arachnid.   At least that’s what he thought it was.  And since he couldn’t see it, his imagination took over and told him that this feeling which at first he thought was small seemed to be growing.  He began thinking that maybe those tiny feelings he felt at first were not actually a tiny spider but a very large one who was running around on his tiptoes just barely touching the surface of Jon’s chest in an attempt to fool him as to his size.  Now that freaked Jon out!

            Jon screamed and twisted wildly, his chest bucking in the air as he tried to catapult the creature into space.  Since Jon’s head was buried inside his sweatshirt and T-shirt, the screams emanating from his mouth were muffled and sounded more like the grunting sounds of some animal at the zoo.  As Jon bucked and writhed the spider lost traction a couple of times and was thrown into the air only to land on Jon again.  Jon noticed this and figured one good spasm should send it flying.  Gathering all his energy into one huge convulsion, Jon bucked with all his might and sent the spider soaring.  It hit the rung of the ladder, flew through the air and went right down the opening in the top of Jon’s sweatshirt.  Falling through space, the spider landed inside Jon’s inside-out apparel and landed on his face.  Jon opened his mouth to scream and the spider fell in.  Jon choked, hacked, coughed and sputtered, but the tenacious creature found a foothold on his front tooth.  Using his tongue, Jon attempted to dislodge the little guy but instead squished him flat against the back side of his upper incisor.  Jon gagged, scraped the body from his tooth with his tongue and spit it out.  It flew half an inch and stuck to the front of his sweatshirt which was directly in front of his eyes.  He couldn’t see it, but he could sense the carcass was there.

            Jon needed to get out of this predicament and soon.  His arms were tiring and starting to fall asleep.  His back was beginning to ache and his feet wouldn’t hold on much longer.  And the knowledge that a dead spider lay only centimeters from his face was motivation enough to end this dilemma.  The only other thing he could do was to try and untangle his arms from his sleeves and crawl out of his sweatshirt while at the same time holding on tightly for dear life so he didn’t drop to the floor one story below.  He began working his arms free of their prison. 

            Thread by thread.  Wrinkle by wrinkle, Jon slowly untangled himself from his cloth poke until he felt his torso start to fall out of his sweatshirt.  It was very much like releasing one’s fingers from a Chinese Finger Puzzle.  As gravity slowly sucked him from his confines, he prepared himself for the drop so that he could catch himself before falling on his head ten feet below.  Suddenly, one arm broke free and before his other arm could fall out he grabbed hold of the sweatshirt and held on for dear life.  Mustering up all the energy he had left in his body, he pulled himself up and toward the ladder all the while keeping his feet as tight as possible against and around the ladder rung.  Once he reached out and grabbed hold of the uppermost rung, he breathed a sigh of relief.  Resting, Jon thought about his situation.  After some of his strength oozed back into his muscles, he carefully positioned himself so that he could work on untangling his sweatshirt.  It took a few minutes, but eventually he undid it and carefully climbed to the floor below.  He examined his clothing and found a tear on the back about two inches long and ¼” wide.  Not too bad considering.  He slipped it and his T-shirt back over his head, carefully brushed the tiny body from his sweatshirt and turned to find his way out of this labyrinth of tunnels.

            Gathering up his tools, Jon sauntered slowly down the dusty tunnel, his headlamp capturing dust particles and tiny bugs in the beam.  He’d worn himself out trying to dislodge his body from his clothing and was now very tired.  Within a minute he’d reached the access door through which he’d entered less than 30 minutes ago.  Strangely, the door was shut.  It must have drifted shut while he was working.  He reached down, confident that the emergency release handle would open the door to the familiar world he knew, the inside of the school.  Jon lifted up on the handle.  It didn’t move.  He tried again.  Still nothing.  Sweat started to form on his head.  His nerves became taut.  Using both hands, Jon pulled up and pushed down with all his strength.  It didn’t budge.  Jon’s heart pounded inside his chest like a caged Orangutan, wildly excited and panicked to get out.  For ten minutes Jon worked on extricating himself from his predicament, but to no avail.  Disheartened, Jon’s mind went to work.  How to get out?  What to do?  How to avoid being trapped in here for hours or days?  Then it struck him.  Another exit!

            Jon remembered that if he went down the tunnel he’d just come through, he could go straight instead of turning left and he’d eventually come to a ladder that dropped down from the ceiling overhead which led to a trap door that opened onto a hallway floor.    Confident of escape, Jon turned and jauntily headed for the other escape hatch. 

            Jon walked twenty to thirty feet and found the ladder.  Ahead of him the tunnel took a ninety degree turn and ended at the ladder that climbed skyward to the next level.  That tunnel continued on to other areas of the building, but this ladder on the wall would take him eight feet up and out through the trap door.  Jon secured his tools around his waist, adjusted the beam on his headlamp and climbed up three rungs.  Reaching up, he twisted the handle on the door.  It opened with ease.  Pushing upward, Jon attempted to open the door.  It wouldn’t move.  He tried again.  Nothing.  Jon climbed another rung and then resting his shoulder against the door he pushed with all his might.  He heard a creak, a crack and the door moved.  Elated, Jon pushed harder, the door opened even more and a shaft of light pierced the darkness like a dagger piercing through the outer skin of some prehistoric beast.  One more push and the door sprung free.  As it opened, Jon noticed strings of something stuck to the door and also to the floor where the door had been when shut.  It reminded him of a very cheesy pizza and the long, fibrous strings that form when you remove a slice by lifting it three feet above the pie.  Weird.  He used his hand to swipe away the strings and pushed the door fully open.  Climbing out, Jon took a deep breath and stretched.  Looking in both directions, Jon scanned the hallway for any clandestine observers who might have seen him emerge.  There was no one.  Relieved, Jon reached down and closed the hatch.  Then he realized what the strings were.  They were glue that had been used to hold the floor tile down.  Jon had forgotten that just last year new tile had been laid in that hallway, and since no one used that trap door, it had been tiled over.  Now chunks of broken tile lay in pieces around the edges of the door and the glue was sticking to other tiles still intact.  The door shut fine, but it looked terrible.  Another project he would have to repair.  Jon picked up the pieces and returned to his office where he took a break to rest his tired soul. 

            Within ten minutes there came a knock on the door.  Jon responded.  In the doorway stood Vance, the school principal.

            “Hey Jon.  How’s your day going?”

            “Well, thanks.”

            “Great!  It’s going to be another nice day.”

            Jon shook his head apprehensively.  “Yup.”

            Vance paused.  Then, “do you know what happened to the tile in the hallway?  Several chunks are missing in the shape of a square.  It looks very strange.”

            Jon smiled sheepishly.  “Yes, I saw that.  I will try to fix it as soon as possible.  It’s on my list.”

            “Great!  I can always count on you to get things done.”  Vance smiled and patted Jon on the shoulder.  “Enjoy the sun today and don’t get yourself into trouble!”

            “Thanks.  I’ll try not to.” 

            The door shut and Jon stood there bewildered as a roll of toilet paper fell off the shelf above his head. 

           

Behind the Broom

By: Nikki Robson - Head Custodian at Donges Bay Elementary School in Mequon, Wisconsin

Imagine for a moment arriving at school and everything is pitch black, no lights in the parking lot to guide your way into the doors, no doors are open, nothing is shoveled or salted. The only lights to be seen are from the ambulance vehicles from the EMTs who are on the scene helping numerous staff and students who slipped and fell. You notice locksmiths who are trying and get into the building for some heat and relief from the below zero temperatures outside. Upon entering the building, the place is a ghost town. Throughout the night, pipes have frozen and exploded all over the building. The trash is piled up in the garbage cans, paper is blowing down the hallways, loose electrical wires are hanging from the ceiling. As you walk down the halls you can actually see your breath and think to yourself which side is warmer outside or in? What in the world is going on here? Apocalypse? Armageddon?

Nope the Head custodian took the day off.

There is a common misconception amongst many of what a head custodian actually does. Sure people know the basics of our job. We are the ones who come into work two to three hours earlier then the start of school to shovel and salt the pathways. We fix pipes that break, electrical shorts and yes even swing a mop a time or two. We are always the first to be called when someone gets sick all over the floor and the last to get a “thank you”. We are the ones you seek out when a book bag is stuck in a locker or a door needs to be unlocked because you forgot a project that is due. We are in charge of all set ups for every event that takes place from ice cream socials, special team dinners, graduation and everything in between. It is true, we make sure the halls stay clean, the trash cans are emptied, bathrooms stay fresh, and everything from pencil sharpeners to heat are working properly.

So that’s it right, I mean what else is there? There is so much more to being a custodian that I don’t even like the title because of the mistaken notions that come along with it.  If you would ask us why we love our job, unanimously we would all agree that it is the people that keep us here. We are the ones who find the kids who are being brutally bullied to the point where they would rather eat their lunch in a bathroom stall, with their tray on the tank facing the wall than to be ridiculed during lunch time. We are the ones who see the lonely, somber eyes of the seemingly lost souls on auto pilot moving about the halls, feeling as if no one cares. We would rather stop what we are doing, and strike up conversations just so that individual knows someone sees you and we care. We crack jokes and lighten moods of the students who are stressing over tests. We offer sound wisdom to those who feel as if every part of their world is at its breaking point. We offer guidance to those who have personal torment, broken families, unplanned pregnancies, abusive boyfriends, even eating disorders.

We hear the unspoken, repair the broken wings of the inhabitants of our hallways, and we are above all else caretakers of our campus and everyone that passes through its doors. We are counselors, party planners, comedians, psychologists, investors of well being, a friendly face, givers of a caring word, encouragers, cheerleaders, and masters of organizing chaos. We are more than a group of mop swinging, bathroom cleaning, and broom pushing passersby’s. We are the first responding cardiologists to the heart of the school, its people! Get to know us, and surely you will be surprised at the person behind the broom.

Lesson Eleven: Zoom, Boom, Doom, Gloom

            A fine morning.  A fine breakfast.  A fine day!  Jon felt good as he headed to work.  With his window down, a cool morning breeze tickling his face and the occasional twitter of a bird song following the rules of the Doppler Effect as Jon drove, the morning couldn’t be better.  Jon arrived at work, right on time.  He disarmed the alarm system without any problems.  The building looked clean.  No one was around.  And his coffee was still hot!  Jon whistled as he entered his office.            

            Glancing up at the clock, Jon mentally noted the time.  Five fifty-six ante meridian.  School started at eight ante meridian.  After his 25 minute walk to unlock the school and turn on the lights, Jon would have plenty of time to use the Zamboni on the gym floor.  He’d be out of there long before the PE classes arrived. 

            At 6:35 a.m., Jon finished preparing the building for school.  Opening the Zamboni, he filled it with a cleaning solution for the wood floors in the gym.  He checked the filters, made sure the hoses were tightly attached, checked the pads for cleanliness and disconnected the charger.  Once the machine was filled, Jon drove it down to the gym.

            Jon parked it under the basketball hoop and then swept the floor.  He also scraped up any gum and picked up any clothing and papers that had been left there by the PE class the previous day.  Once he finished that, he was ready to roll.  Jon turned on the Zamboni.  He lowered the squeegee, dropped the pads and turned on the water.  Moving forward, the Zamboni left a fresh, clean path behind it.  Jon glanced back.  He smiled. 

            After 15 minutes of continuous cleaning, Jon glanced at his watch.  It was 7:25 a.m.  His stomach knotted up quicker than a kid trying to tie his shoe because he suddenly realized he only had about 30 minutes left before the PE class started arriving.  Any project started should always be doubled in the projected time one thinks it will take to complete the task.  This was another instance when Jon should have thought about that before he started.  Now he was pushing to finish the job.

            Jon pressed the accelerator a bit harder.  The Zamboni picked up speed.  He would need to move along quickly so he would be out of the way of the incoming PE class.  Jon had about half the gym left to clean.  If he’d figured correctly, by increasing his speed to about double, he should be able to clean the remaining floor in half the time it took on the previous half.  Jon zipped around the corner and headed for the far wall.  As he neared the wall, he slowed a bit and cranked the wheel.  The Zamboni shuddered and a sound like a plastic zipper being pulled reached his ears.  As the Zamboni straightened out, Jon glanced back to see a large chunk of padding on the wall ripped and dangling like a giant hangnail.  Jon cursed under his breath.  He knew rushing the job would cause some kind of disaster.

            As Jon raced along the west wall, the Zamboni just millimeters from the padding, he prepared to turn the next corner, which he did without incident.  Heading along the south wall, one of the two shorter walls in the gym, Jon quickly arrived at the east wall.  Again he cranked the single front wheel which gave him superb maneuverability when it came to small areas.  As he reached the center of the gym, Jon turned and headed west once again.  As he raced across the wide open expanse of wood, Jon focused on the fast approaching west wall.  His eyes intent on the wall and his brain rapidly calculating when and where to turn, Jon failed to notice the loose floor plate that covered the insert for the volleyball poles.  As his front wheel sailed past the plate, the back wheel was, unfortunately, lined up square.  When the weight of the Zamboni crossed the cover, the plate flipped up and sailed like a Frisbee across the room imbedding itself in the plaster wall next to the door.  At the same instant, the back wheel dropped into the hole.  When it did, the front of the Zamboni lifted into the air removing the friction from the front tire and the floor.  The sudden loss of momentum sent Jon over the steering wheel and into the padded wall where he dropped to the floor like a lead weight.  Stunned, Jon looked up.  Ten feet from him the Zamboni reared up like a wild horse as the front wheel spun at several hundred RPM’s.  The accelerator was stuck and a high-pitched whine echoed off of the walls.  Jon’s mind quickly comprehended the situation and realized that if the Zamboni dropped to the floor, he would be paste on the wall.  Quickly his brain motivated his feet to move and he jumped up, though dazed and bruised. 

            Jon ran to the Zamboni and grabbed the accelerator.  He couldn’t budge it.  With a deft movement, Jon flipped open his Leatherman and extracted the flat blade screwdriver.  Quickly inserting it underneath the edge of the accelerator, he desperately tried to release the pedal.  As he put more and more force on the blade, the pedal began to move.  Then, with a loud “pop,” the pedal fell off in his hand, two screws and a spring bouncing off the Zamboni and onto the floor.  Jon cursed under his breath. 

            Jon’s eyes darted quickly over the machine; a beast and potential death-dealing device that hummed with immeasurable energy inches from his body.  Jon noticed the key. 

            Perfect, he thought.  Jon reached for the key.  Twisting it to the off position Jon’s heart sank as it snapped off in his hand.  The Zamboni continued to whine.  Jon leaned over closer to inspect the instrument panel.  There had to be something he could do.  As he leaned, the Zamboni tipped forward.  A squeal emanated from underneath the machine as the front wheel touched the gym floor.  Jon jumped back and the machine lifted back off of the ground.  Jon thought again.  The only other thing he could think to do was remove the battery cables.  He grabbed the waste water tank and attempted to open it since the batteries were located underneath.  The tank was half full, but Jon put all his strength into it.  He slowly opened it until it went beyond the point of balance.  Then it flew backwards to a full open position.  When it did water splashed out of the tank and all over the floor.  The volleyball insert quickly filled with water.  The Zamboni, now lighter, tipped forward throwing Jon between the seat and the steering wheel.  Jon’s added weight took the machine all the way to the floor.  A squeal pealed forth as the front tire burned a black groove into the varnish and the wood floor.  Smoke drifted toward the ceiling.  Jon found himself wedged tightly and struggled to move.  In so doing, he rocked the Zamboni.  The back of the machine grabbed hold of the edge of the volleyball insert and suddenly jumped out of the hole.  The Zamboni raced toward the wall. 

            Jon blindly reached over his head and cranked the wheel to the left.  The Zamboni careened toward the south wall with Jon’s legs flailing off the side of the machine.  His feet bounced along the west wall as the Zamboni raced at full speed toward the far end of the gym.  One of Jon’s shoes caught on a padded wall seam and flew off.  Jon cranked the wheel again and the Zamboni shot to the left and screamed toward the east wall.  At the same instant the beam detectors registered smoke and the fire alarm went off.  Jon’s heart sank and his pant leg caught on the corner of the bleachers.  With enough momentum to pull them down but not enough to remove them, Jon’s pants fluttered in the breeze like a flag at the top of a mast.  His bright green boxers stood out like a sore thumb against the black backdrop of the Zamboni floorboard. 

            Jon continued to circle the gym estimating how close he was to the wall while at the same time struggling to free his trapped torso.  On the fourth pass around the gym, Jon ran over his sneaker.  The Zamboni jumped and Jon’s progress at extricating himself was negated as he dropped back down into a fully wedged position. 

            Moments later the fire department arrived and the senior firefighter named Red along with the principal, Lance rushed to the gym.  Yanking the doors open, their eyes were assaulted by a bright green flash of underwear as Jon sailed past.  Jon’s shoed foot struck Lance in the groin and he dropped to his knees.  Lance’s pants quickly absorbed the water that was streaming from behind the Zamboni.  Red noticed the Zamboni squeegee lying against the far wall where it had flown off during one of Jon’s revolutions around the gym.  Lance struggled to his feet, agony strewn across his face.  As Jon squealed around the far corner of the gym, Red sauntered into the gym ascertaining where best to intercept him.  He stopped a few feet inside the door and waited.  Jon skidded around the northeast corner and headed for Red.  As he raced past, Red reached up and smacked the large red emergency stop button on the machine.  The Zamboni stopped within 10 feet.  The gym went quiet. 

            Jon squirmed and felt the strong arms of Red extricating him from the Zamboni.  Struggling to stand up, Jon regained his balance and then shook himself back into his pants.  Red just looked at him with a quizzical expression.  Lance still had a pained look on his face when he spoke.

            “You okay?”

            “Uh huh.”  Jon fidgeted.

            “What happened?” Lance asked as he reached up to scratch his face.

            “Not sure.  The accelerator stuck after the wheel got stuck in the volleyball insert.  I tried to shut it off but nothing worked.”  Jon glanced across the gym at the accelerator pedal by the far wall.  Red and Lance followed his eyes and focused on the same piece of metal.  “Then I tried to shut it off and got wedged between the seat and steering wheel.  All I could do was try to steer until help came.  Thanks.”

            Red and Lance didn’t say much.  Without speaking, the three of them surveyed the damage.  A large black groove adorned the gym floor in the middle of the basketball key.  Water glistened on the gym floor now a large pond.  Zamboni parts lay in tiny heaps like oversized rat droppings.  Red glanced upwards and noted the smoke had dissipated. 

            “I’ll get a few of our guys to help clean up this water and set up some fans,” Red said to Lance.  Lance thanked him. 

            “I’ll have a couple of my guys check you out Jon.”  Red looked at Jon with pity.  “You could have some serious injuries that aren’t showing up yet.”

            “Okay.  But first I should help clean up.”  Jon’s eyes continued to stay glued to the floor, embarrassment and shame hanging like a weight from his face. 

            “Don’t worry about it,” Lance chimed.  “I’ll call maintenance for some help.  You just let the paramedics check your injuries.”

            Jon shook his head in agreement and turned to follow Red out to the ambulance. Jon stopped and stooped over to tie his shoe.  A flash of green assaulted Lance’s eyes.  The seam on the back of Jon’s pants had ripped wide open allowing his green boxer’s to show through.  

            “Uh, Jon,” Lance started to say. 

“What?”

“Your pants.  Their ripped wide open.”

            Jon reached back and felt the contrast between cotton and polyester.

            “Thanks.  I’ll go home and change.”

            Lance smiled sheepishly and then took out his cell phone to call maintenance.  Jon followed Red back to the ambulance.  After getting thoroughly checked out and finding no injuries other than his pride, Jon went back to his office.  He plopped in his seat and stared at the wall.  He couldn’t believe how his day had started out so perfectly yet had already gone completely downhill.  He reached for his coffee.  At least it was still lukewarm.  Jon finished it off and went out the back door to go home and change his pants.  He glanced at his wristwatch.  9:10 a.m.  He shook his head and reached in his pocket for his car keys.  As he pulled them from his pocket they snagged on the edge of his pants and were torn from his hands.  As they flipped through the air, Jon’s hand shot out to catch them before they hit the ground.  It was too late.  Jon’s mind reeled in horror as he watched them disappear through the grate of the drain in the parking lot.  He stood dumbfounded.  Then, to add insult to injury, Jon looked up.  He was standing next to someone else’s car.  His car was three stalls down. 

           

Lesson Ten: Fly By Night

        

            Musca domestica.  A common household fly. 

Musca, as his friends called him, hung precariously from the wall just above Jon’s desk.  For the past three days he had been watching Jon, cleaning up the crumbs from his lunches, following him, plotting his demise.  Although scientists tell us that insects and other animals can’t think, this fly begged to differ.  He saw what he wanted, knew what he would do and planned accordingly.  Today was his day.

            Jon was oblivious to this scheming, bug-eyed insect, although unbeknownst to him, he had swatted at it several times over the past few days.  Musca had been trying out a few maneuvers in preparation for today.  Jon had just been annoyed. 

            Jon’s plans for today were to clean the carpets in the math wing.  It was spring break and he thought he’d get a few extras done before summer.  Jon loaded up his carpet cleaning cart with the necessary supplies and tools and jauntily made his way to the first math room.  Opening the door, Jon’s eyes scanned the room and took in his previous day’s work; that of stacking and moving all the furniture to the tiled portion of the room.  Today all he had to do was walk in, pre-spray the carpet, give it appropriate dwell time while he mixed his cleaning solution and connect the parts of his extractor.  Ten minutes later, Jon was ready.

            Musca hung back taking in the scene.  He watched through his compound eyes as a thousand Jon’s meticulously worked his extraction wand to and fro across the carpet fibers.  He watched sweat begin to form on Jon’s head.  He watched Jon get closer and closer to the antique lamp that the teacher had on the corner of her desk.  Then he struck!

            As Jon begun to pull the extraction wand toward him, the hose, which was dragging behind, moved backward in sync with the motion of the wand.  At the same moment that Jon was within inches of knocking the antique lamp on the floor, the tiny fly started harassing him.  First it landed on his head.  Jon stopped in mid stroke and swatted at the fly.  The fly’s maneuverability was no match for Jon’s molasses-like reflexes.  Then he landed on the side of Jon’s cheek.  Jon stopped again, his hose an inch from the lamp and he slapped his cheek.  A tiny shiver of laughter raced through Musca’s body and then he was gone.  Jon backed up a hair more and the fly flew into Jon’s nose.  The sudden irritation caused Jon to react violently and quickly.  It also made him knock the lamp off the desk.  At the instant his hose bumped the lamp; Jon knew what he’d done.  As if swimming in thick syrup, Jon turned his head ever so slowly and watched in horror and the lamp tumbled through space and hit the floor with a thud!  The lamp was intact.  Amazed and relieved, Jon picked it up and set it carefully on the counter away from his work area.

            Musca’s tiny body shivering with laughter now shivered with rage.  He so wanted to see Jon break the lamp.  He was so hoping to irritate Jon mercilessly.  But it wasn’t to be.  The fly circled the room several times watching and waiting.  Jon continued cleaning, oblivious to the surveillance overhead.  Eventually, he finished the room.  Carefully moving his cleaning equipment next door, Jon began work on math room two.  Musca sat quietly on the counter watching. 

            Starting on the far side of the room, Jon began to extract the carpet.  As he leaned forward to reach underneath a desk which was too heavy to move, he realized he didn’t have quite enough hose.  Instead of walking across the room and moving the extractor, Jon decided to give the hose a good pull using it as a “rope” to move his extractor closer.  A couple of tugs and the machine glided into the room.  Jon smiled, proud of himself for saving a few seconds.  Jon worked feverishly for another 15 minutes until the room was done. 

            On to room number three, Jon thought.  Things were going so smoothly today.  Jon shut off his machine, pulled all the hose through the door and walked through a huge squishy bog which used to be the hallway carpet.  Stopping, Jon looked down.  Unbeknownst to him, when he’d pulled the hose to move the extractor, the waste water drainage hose had been pulled from the machine.   The whole time Jon had been extracting, the hose had been draining water into the hallway.  Even with this bad turn of events, Jon didn’t panic.  He had his extractor.  He had the wand in hand.  He simply reconnected the drainage hose, turned on the extractor and sucked up the water.  No harm done.  Jon then began work on rooms four and five.

            After another hour of work, Jon decided to take a break.  He shut off his machine, carefully laid the hose on the floor and went outside to enjoy a few minutes of sunshine.  After breathing in some fresh air and sucking up some rays, Jon returned to work.  He finished two more classrooms and then cleaned up his equipment for the day.  After pushing his cleaning cart of supplies and other carpet paraphernalia back to his office, Jon returned to retrieve the extractor.  When he rounded the corner, he couldn’t believe his eyes.  Before him lay a vast ocean of carpet waves.  The extractor was hidden behind the first one.  Several others were spread out sporadically down the hall.  Jon realized that his mishap had over-wet the carpet and now it was bubbling up from too much moisture.  Jon was disappointed that his day had now taken a turn for the worse.  Moving the extractor back to his office, Jon returned with three high speed dryers.  He set them up in strategic places to maximize the drying.  Hopefully, the carpet would dry out quickly due to a process of air moving over the surface of the carpet rapidly.  This was known as Bernoulli’s law.  He could only wait and see.

            All the while, the fly had been observing this turn of events.  When Jon left to go back to his office, so did the fly.  He followed at a safe distance and altitude.  When Jon sat down to think, the fly landed on his hand.  Jon swatted at it.  It moved with lightning- like efficiency and was gone before Jon’s hand came within a foot of his other hand.  A loud slap reaffirmed that he had missed.  Jon rubbed his hand.  Again, the fly landed, this time on his arm.  Another slap and another red mark appeared.  The fly did this several more times until Jon began to look a bit like a Native American.  Jon was thoroughly frustrated now.  Not only had his carpet cleaning turned bad, but now this stupid fly was drying him nuts.  Jon went to his supply shelf and picked up a can of Raid.

            Walking quietly back into the room, Jon thought he might be able to outsmart and outthink the fly.  His eyes carefully scanned the room like two miniature radar sets.  His ears were tuned to detect any high pitched frequency the fly’s wings might emanate.  His hand was steady.  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement.  On the wall, to his left and about two feet above him.  The fly scurried about in tiny circles. 

            He must be confused, Jon thought.  He doesn’t know where I went.  Now he’ll pay. 

            With the steady, slow movement of a minute hand on a clock, Jon’s arm swung around toward the fly, his finger ready on the sprayer.  Stopping, Jon locked his arm in place.  The fly continued creating circles on the wall.  Jon’s finger twitched and then with one lightning movement, he pushed down on the sprayer. 

            A fog instantly formed in front of Jon and then his eyes began to burn as if red pepper had been poured liberally into them.  Tears streamed down his face and the fly flew off unscathed.  Jon realized he had not checked to see which direction the spray top had been aimed.  Now he knew.  Quickly he ran to the sink and spent the next 10 minutes flushing his eyes.  Once the burning subsided, Jon dried them and looked in the mirror.  He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, his eyes red and puffy, his face glistening with moisture.  A buzzing in his ear brought him back to his senses. 

            Jon turned quickly as the fly exited through the door and down the hall.  Jon stood there momentarily and then decided to go check on his dryers.  Forget the stupid fly, he thought.  When he reached the hall, he was pleased to see that some of the wrinkles had gone down.  Several others were still present.  Jon unplugged one of the air movers and repositioned it outside the door to math classroom three.  He plugged it in just inside the door.  When he turned on the switch, he heard a “pop” and all the lights and computers in the room went off.  The breaker had tripped.  The circuit breaker box was located right across from this classroom in a maintenance room.  Jon opened the door, opened the circuit breaker box and found the red flagged breaker which had tripped.  He reached up and reset it.  It immediately tripped again.  He tried again.  Same result.  The third time, Jon reset it and held it tight so it wouldn’t trip.  The blower began to run and the lights came on.  Jon could feel the resistance in the breaker as he held it.  He knew it would trip again.  Before he could let go and move the dryer to another outlet, he watched as smoke started to curl out of the dryer.  Letting go of the breaker, it tripped and Jon ran to the dryer.  He unplugged it and grabbed it to take it outside, but not before a poof of flame rolled up the side of it and enveloped his head.  Jon jumped back, his face black, his hair singed and his eyebrows gone.  The smoke dissipated and curled up to the smoke detector.  Jon smiled.  He had the system in test, so even if it went off, the fire department wouldn’t arrive to see his mess.  Jon picked up the dryer and set it outside to cool and air out.  And to Jon’s surprise, the fire alarm didn’t activate.

            Jon moved one of the two remaining dryers to a different position.  Tiny flecks of dust swirled through the air and the carpet began to undulate like a flag on a windy day.  Jon surveyed the scene and was satisfied that things would dry out nicely by the next day.  He turned to walk back to his office when the fly buzzed his ear.  Whipping his head around to see where the fly was, Jon walked right into the doorframe of the men’s restroom.  A thud with the same resonance as that of a coconut falling from a tree and hitting the ground reverberated off of the bathroom walls.  Jon stumbled backwards and fell on his butt.  Stars floated in front of his eyes and he had to rest a few minutes before things cleared up.  Jon’s fingers caressed his head.  A knot the size of an egg protruded from his forehead just over his right eye.  Jon had morphed into a scorched-blackened-eyebrowless-egghead.  A bit of red still shown under the layer of soot adding to his transformation. 

            Musca tried again.  Flying in at a steep angle, he aimed for Jon’s other ear.  Jon turned just in time to be hit head-on in the lip as the fly attempted to pirouette in midair.  This time the fly sailed sideways into the hallway wall.  A tiny concussion of sound like a pea bouncing off of a window briefly filled the air.  The fly fell to the floor spinning.  With one quick move, Jon stomped on it.  He stood triumphant staring at his foot.  Musca flew out from under the high point of his shoe, that small void between the front of his shoe and the heel.  Zipping with tremendous speed and agility, the fly disappeared around the corner.  Jon stood stunned.

            Frustrated, hurting and ready to end his shift, Jon trudged back to his office.  Jon couldn’t believe the turn of events his day had taken.  A simple carpet cleaning job gone awry, mainly because of a stupid fly.  Would his life at work never end normally?  Would he never go through a day without something backfiring?  It would seem not. 

            Jon poured himself a cup of coffee, sat down and relaxed before his day was done.  He leaned back and closed his eyes.  Musca sat precariously on the wall, watching, waiting.  When he saw Jon’s eyes close, he hovered briefly and then flew down and landed on the edge of Jon’s coffee cup.  He sat opposite Jon and stared.  Jon took another sip, his eyes still shut.  Musca held on and rode the cup up and down again.  Jon pondered his day.  At least his shift was about over.  He stretched, yawned and took another sip as he opened his eyes.  A tiny fly sat staring at him with a million compound lens reflecting the light of the room in a rainbow of colors.  Jon’s boiling point was reached almost instantly.  Without thinking, Jon reached up and swatted the fly.  That in turn sent the rest of his coffee out of the cup and onto his shirt and pants.  Jumping up, Jon dropped his cup.  It shattered.  Cursing, Jon scanned the room looking for “the fly.”  It was gone.  He spent the next 10 minutes cleaning up after which he shut off the lights and went home. 

            Jon finally got to bed around 10:30 p.m.  He was showered, warm, dry and tired.  He reached over and shut off the light.  His eyelids began to fall.  Then, in the distance, the whir of wings, wings of something small and annoying.  Jon cracked open one eye.  The sound got louder.  Jon waited.  And then a loud whir as Musca landed on his ear.  Jon swatted and missed.  The surround sound effect of Musca flying from one side of his head to the other filled Jon’s ears.  It was going to be a long night.  Musca giggled. 

           

             

                       

Lesson Nine: Dye Spot, Die

            Slowly, steadily, carefully, with the precision of a surgeon, Jon E. Mopp moved his Philips screwdriver, the screw magnetized to the tip, into the small cavity inside of the vacuum motor.  Squinting his eyes and balancing the small flashlight in his teeth, Jon moved the screw closer and closer toward the terminal end of the green ground wire.  As if docking the Space Shuttle with the Space Station, Jon carefully inserted the screw through the connector slowly pushing both the screw and the wire toward the threaded metal post.  A tiny “tink” of screw on metal reached Jon’s ears and he smiled, dropping the flashlight out of his mouth and onto the floor.  Without moving a muscle, Jon continued to insert the screw into the post, although it was harder to see now.  Using his sense of touch, Jon felt the screw “catch” the threads.  He slowly turned the screw so as not to drop it or lose the ground wire. 

The phone, just three feet from Jon’s ear, jangled in the cradle announcing an incoming call.  Startled, Jon twitched and the screw slipped off the screwdriver tumbling down inside the motor, past the brushes, past the armature, past the shaft and disappeared into the dark where it landed with, not a rattle, but a solid “tink” as it lodged tightly next to something else.  The phone sounded again irritating Jon even more.  When Jon stood up, the wire slipped from under the screwdriver and snapped him on the hand.  Jon recoiled in pain from the slap of the wire on his hand and the screwdriver flew from his grip lodging in the wall behind him.  The phone rang a third time.  Jon tore it from its cradle.

            “What!” he screamed.

            “Jon?”

            “Yes, what do you want?” he asked irritably.

            “This is Mrs. Snuffle.  I have a problem.  I accidentally spilled some bleach on my carpet and now there’s a small discolored area.   Is there anything you can do to fix it?”

            Rubbing his hand, Jon thought for a moment.  He’d just purchased a spot dyeing kit, but hadn’t tried it out yet.  “Sure, I can take a look at it.  I’ll come over in a bit.”

            “Thanks so much,” Wanda replied.  “I appreciate your helping me out.  I feel so dumb.”

            “Don’t worry.  I’ll take care of it.”

            Hanging up, Jon stood staring at his vacuum.  Maybe I need to take a break from this for a bit.  Jon went to his supply room and snatched the Dye Kit from off the shelf.  Opening the door and stepping into the sunshine, Jon headed for Wanda Snuffle’s room.

            Upon arriving, Jon immediately saw the bleached areas.  There were three spots ranging in size from a dime to just over a quarter in width. 

            “So do you think you can fix them?” Wanda asked.

            Looking up, Jon responded.  “Sure, sure.  It should be no problem.”

            “Great!  Thanks for helping me out.  I feel so klutzy.  I was carrying a cup of bleach to the sink and spilled some along the way.  I didn’t realize it would bleach the rug so quickly.”

            “Well, bleach does that,” Jon said. 

            “I can see that!  Anyway, I have to go to a meeting.  I’ll be back this afternoon sometime.  I’ll leave you to my mess.”

            “Okay.  Have a good day.”  Jon smiled as Wanda grabbed her books and materials and left.

            Jon perused the room and the spots.  The floor covering was an off brown, commercial, glue down carpet.  Jon remembered reading that the only carpets you can successfully dye are nylon or wool and this carpet was nylon.  Jon knew this because it had been purchased two years previously and he had been part of the whole purchasing process.  At least that much was in his favor.

            Jon studied the spots.  The bleach had removed enough color that they now had a yellow look to them.  Jon wondered how he would get yellow back to brown.  Pulling up a chair, Jon sat down at the table and opened his spot dye kit.  He pulled out a card containing the quick reference section for spot dyeing.  Reading through it he learned that spots needed to be recolored by adding primary colors back in first.  Then small adjustments can be made.  Looking at the enclosed chart, Jon learned that a brown carpet that had turned yellow was missing the red and blue primary colors.  Since an uneven mix of red, blue and yellow produced brown, all Jon needed to do was add red and blue dye.  Sounds easy enough Jon thought to himself.

            Feeling confident with himself, Jon set to work.  First he filled some containers with water.  Next, per the instructions, he squirted a bottle of neutralizer on the three spots to stop the bleaching action that was taking place.  Next, he pulled out the powdered dyes and began mixing them with water.  Adding a few tiny scoops to the first container of water, Jon watched as the crystals swirled slowly throughout the water turning it a beautiful blue.  He did the same with the red dye and watched the water slowly become a gorgeous red, like a summertime sunset.  Next, he took an eyedropper out of the kit and carefully sucked up some of the blue dye.  Jon dropped a few drops on the smallest yellow spot.  The spot turned green.  He added a few more drops.  The spot metamorphosed to a darker green.  A few drops of red dye and Jon was exceptionally pleased to see the spot change to a light brown.  He added another drop or two and the spot blended in so well that you couldn’t tell the difference between the dyed spots and the original color.  Taking a clean white rag, Jon blotted the excess dye from the fibers.   The first spot was virtually invisible.  Wow!  That was cool.  The spot was gone and it had only taken a few minutes to repair. 

            Jon began working on the other two spots.  After another 15 minutes, both the spots looked beautiful.  Not bad for his first attempt without practicing on a scrap piece of carpet.  Jon stood up to examine his handiwork.  A smile crossed his face.  For once something had gone right.  Jon gathered up his kit and headed for the door.  As he reached for the knob, something caught his eye.  It was a small yellowish spot on the carpet just to his left.  Stopping, Jon noticed one other spot about 10 feet from the three he’d just dyed.  Hmmm.  I better fix that one while I’m here too.  Jon looked closer at the spot.  It had a yellow appearance like the other three.  Jon scratched his head considering the possibility that Wanda had dripped bleach here too.

            Setting down his kit, Jon removed the neutralizer from the kit and liberally spread it over the discolored area.  After blotting it up, he prepared his containers of dye water.  Using the same procedure as before, Jon first added some blue dye to the area.  Little if anything happened.  He added a little more.  The spot appeared to darken, but not much.  He tried some red.  A purplish tinge seemed to emanate from the area, but it still looked yellow.  Jon scratched his head.  Picking up his quick guide, he spent a few minutes reading over some of the tricks for spot dyeing.  After ascertaining what he thought would work, he turned his attention back to the spot.  That’s strange he thought.  A dark purple spot was now evident on the carpet, but the yellow spot was still there right next to the purple spot.  Jon shook his head.  Removing the pre-mixed brown dye, Jon mixed it with some water and worked it into the fibers.  Still the yellow spot persisted.  Nothing seemed to be removing it.  Jon quickly scanned the quick guide once again.  Turning back to the spot, Jon noticed that the purple spot was now accompanied by a brown spot but the yellow spot remained; next to the brown spot.  What was going on?

            Jon poured more neutralizer on the area believing that maybe the bleach had been more concentrated than he’d expected.  After blotting it again, Jon considered his options.  Maybe the dye isn’t dark enough.  Maybe it needs to be a stronger solution.  Then an idea hit Jon like a freight train.  Excited, Jon spun the lid off of the blue dye.  Taking the small measuring scoop he sprinkled a tiny amount of dye directly on the carpet.  He then did the same with the red dye and finally topped it off with some brown.  He almost felt like he was creating a sundae with all the beautiful colors.  Next, he took an eyedropper full of water and dropped several drops on the area.  Tiny rivulets of color trickled down into the fiber and spread out across the area.  The spot darkened.  Jon’s stomach twisted with excitement.  It darkened a little more as did the entire room.  Jon looked up as a cloud drifted across the face of the sun outside the window.  Jon looked back down.  In the few seconds the sun was covered, Jon could see clearly three dark stains on the carpet.  The yellow spot was gone.  A sinking feeling knotted inside him.  The warm rays of sunshine quickly filled the room again and Jon watched as the yellow spot reappeared.  Slowly raising his eyes to the window, Jon stared dumbfounded at a glass crystal hanging from a string inside the window pane.  Scintillations of light sparkled from it.  A bright yellow spot glowed on the carpet in front of him.  Jon realized he’d been trying to dye a point of light that had slowly been moving in sync with the sun. 

            Heart-broken, frustrated, angry and disgusted with himself, Jon reached to pick up his containers of powdered dye.  He knocked the red one over spilling dye all over the carpet.  Easy.  Easy.  I’ll just vacuum it up. No harm done.  Jon stood up to retrieve his vacuum and kicked over the mixed container of blue dye.  A large purple lake formed as the dye spread across the red powder on the carpet.  Jon grabbed the container, a second too late and picked it up.  He blotted up what he could and stood looking at the disaster.  One big purple spot and three smaller dark areas lay before him.  An inch to the right was a bright yellow spot slowly moving across the room. 

            Jon returned to his office, put his dye kit away and retrieved an iron and a dye removing solution.  He’d used this method before.  The idea was simple.  Transference.  You put the chemical on the dyed area, lay down a damp terry cloth towel and set the iron on top with the setting on steam.  By letting it sit for a few seconds, the dye could slowly be transferred out of the carpet and into the towel.  This was his next option.  Jon returned, plugged in the iron and waited for it to warm up.

            As steam began to drift from the iron vents, Jon liberally covered the areas of dye with the chemical and then laid a wet cloth over them.  Picking up the iron he gently set it down on top of the towel and watched as steam roiled from under the edges like some ancient steam locomotive.  After 15 to 20 seconds, he moved it to another area.  After a couple minutes, Jon checked his towel.  Sure enough some of the dye had transferred into the towel.  There was still more left, so he repeated the process.  This time Jon let it sit longer in hopes of removing more dye.  Steam continued to boil into the air around the edges of the iron.  Patience.  Wait.  Wait.  Just a little longer.  Now!  Jon lifted the iron from the carpet.  Melted plastic carpet fibers clung to the towel and pulled from the carpet backing like cheese off of a pizza.  The perfect indentation of an iron in the carpet fibers met Jon’s eyes as the towel moved from his field of vision.  A filtered curse tumbled from Jon’s lips.  Dang it! 

            Jon set the iron aside and stared at his mess.  What would he do now?  He’d ruined the carpet.  Jon thought for a few minutes.  He then realized there was only one other option.  Jon could cut this section of carpet out and replace it with a new piece.  Jon stood to leave and head back to his office to get some more tools and a piece of carpet.  The bright yellow “light” spot taunted him as it continued its slow journey across the room.  Jon stomped out the door.

            Returning, Jon carried with him a straight edge, a carpet knife, latex and some carpet glue under one arm and a piece of carpet under the other.  Setting his stuff down, Jon prepared to repair his mistake.  Jon lined up the straight edge and cut some nice, straight lines around all the damaged areas.  The sound of something sizzling caught his ear.  Looking up, Jon noticed he had not turned the iron off.  It was sitting on the counter next to his container of blue dye.  Jon jumped up to move the container, but not before the iron melted through the side just as Jon reached it.  The sudden release of air from the melted hole allowed a puff of blue dye to release from the container effectively covering Jon’s sweaty face and neck.  Sputtering like a cat with a hair-ball, Jon ran to the sink and spit out the dye that had gotten in his mouth.  He also cupped his hands and washed the dye off his face.  Blindly reaching, Jon found the paper towels and dried off.  His hands were a lovely crimson blue. 

            Unfazed by this incident, Jon went back to finish sectioning the carpet.  Having finished cutting all the edges, Jon carefully removed the old section of carpet.  Then, using it as a template, he cut himself a new piece.  Taking the bottle of latex, Jon carefully “buttered” the edges of the new piece so that it would not delaminate over a period of time.  He then spread carpet glue on the concrete floor and carefully inserted the new piece of carpet.  Pressing it down into the hole, Jon was able to get it to match almost exactly.  The only noticeable difference was the newer look of the piece he’d just put in compared to the rest of the carpet.    Jon admired his handiwork.  Not bad.  He put his tools away, gathered his equipment up and turned to leave when Wanda opened the door.

            “Wow!  You’re done?”

            “Yup.  They’re all finished.  Take a look.”  Jon positioned himself so that Wanda wouldn’t notice the section he’d just put in.

            “Very nice,” Wanda remarked.  “You can’t even see them.”  Wanda looked Jon in the face for the first time since she’d entered the room.

            “My … What happened to your face?”

            Jon was perplexed.  “What do you mean?”

            “It’s all blue.  It looks like you’re out of breath.”

            “Uh, I got something on it.  I was just going to go wash it off but hadn’t quite made it that far yet.”

            “Does it hurt?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Does it hurt?  It looks like you might be in pain.”

            “No.  No.  It’s fine.”  Jon’s embarrassed face reddened, but Wanda couldn’t tell.

            “Well I’m glad you’re okay.  Anyway, thanks again.  The spots look great!”

            “Thanks.  They came out very nice.”  Jon wasn’t going to mention the section he’d put in.  Maybe she wouldn’t notice.  “Not a problem.  Glad I could help,” Jon remarked.  “Now I’m off to do some more work.”

            “Okay.  See you around.”  Wanda eyed Jon warily as he turned to leave, wondering about his blue face.  “Oh, by the way.  Did you see my new crystal that one of my students gave me?  On a sunny day like today, it creates a beautiful rainbow effect and shines a bright colorful spot on the carpet.  If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was another bleached area.”  She chuckled as she stood admiring the crystal in the window.

            Jon avoided eye contact and hoped she wouldn’t look at the carpet.  “You sure could mistake it for that, couldn’t you?”

            “You certainly could.”

            “Have a good day Wanda.”

            “You too Jon.”

            Jon opened the door and left.

            Jon put his tools away.  He went to the bathroom and washed his face.  No success.  He looked like a Smurf.  All he could do was let it wear off and who knew how long that would take.  In the meantime, he’d try to avoid contact with people, which, in his line of work, would be difficult.

            Jon got back to his office.  He sat down and looked at the vacuum.  At least he could finish this project and have one thing go right.  He picked up his screwdriver and put the bottom plate back on.  He made sure all the wires were tight and everything was in order.  He plugged it in and turned it on.

            A loud buzzing sound emanated from the motor.  Then, before Jon could flip the switch, there was a loud “bang” and a smoky fireball rolled out of the vacuum engulfing Jon’s head.  Sailing backward from shock and pain, Jon hit the floor and rolled holding his head in his hands.  Jon heard the GFCI breaker on his workbench “pop” and the vacuum died.  Jon sat up, stunned.  The smell of burnt hair and singed skin wafted through the room.  Slowly getting to his feet, he looked at his scorched vacuum.  Unplugging it and turning it over, the tiny “tink” of a screw fell out, blackened and scored.  Jon knew what had caused the motor to seize up and he kicked himself for not remembering to remove it. 

            Jon glanced at the clock and realized it was lunchtime.  He went to the restroom once again, looked in the mirror and saw a blue-faced, black-singed, smoke-covered face staring back at him.  Jon just shook his head.  What a day.  Would any day in his life ever go right?  After washing his hands for lunch, Jon turned around to get some paper towels to wash his face and the dispenser fell off the wall landing on his toe.  Jon cursed under his breath, reached down to grab his foot and slipped headfirst into the garbage can.  The door opened and the principal Vance walked in.

            “Jon?  Is that you?”

            A muffled “yes” emanated from deep within the can.  Jon pulled himself free and stood up.  Vance looked at him in bewilderment for just a moment and then burst into uncontrollable laughter.