The metallic
“rip” of a soda opening punctuated the morning air inside Jon’s office. Tipping the can, Jon leaned back in his chair
to savor the pleasant carbonated burning on his sore throat. As he did so, the chair slipped and Jon went
over backwards landing upside-down on the floor, the soda gurgling out of the
can onto his shirt.
“Dang it!” Jon
yelled, although there was no one there to hear him.
Standing up, Jon
went to the sink and cleaned himself off.
Once he was cleaned up, he finished off his soda and threw the can into
the recycle container. Stretching, Jon looked
at the clock. Eight-fifteen a.m. The red digital numbers pierced the half-lit
area Jon was working in. Ever since the
energy crunch, Jon had been keeping his lights low so as to do his part. He was always concerned about earth’s
resources as evidenced by the recycle bin in the corner and the low heat in the
room. Jon wanted to help save the planet
and this was his little way of helping out.
As Jon finished stretching, he thought about his work for the day. Pondering the chemicals he would need, Jon
walked around the corner and looked over his shelves of supplies. Carpet cleaner, wax, gum remover, citric
acid, wood polish, floor stripper.
“Ah, ha,” he
exclaimed. “That’s what I’m looking
for.”
Jon was scheduled
to strip and rewax a small back hallway and the adjoining file room just off of
the office alcove. Since it was a
non-student day and most of the staff were elsewhere in meetings, Jon figured
today was as good as any to get this project done. Reaching out, Jon grabbed two gallons of Rip-It-Bare wax stripper. Carrying them over to the custodial sink, Jon
rolled one of the jugs over in his hand.
“Let’s see. It says to mix this with water at the rate of
1:32 for heavy build-up
and 1:48 for light
build-up. Since the floor hasn’t been
stripped for years, I’m going to go with the heavier mix,” Jon said under his
breath.
Unfortunately,
Jon had never been a math wiz.
“Hmmm,” Jon
pondered. “One to 32. That must mean for every one gallon of water
I use 32 ounces of stripper. Okay. Let’s see.
I’ll fill my mop bucket with one gallon of water and add 32 ounces of
stripper.” Jon did so unaware that his
math had taken a drastic turn. Little
did he realize that 1:32
meant for every one gallon of water he was to add four ounces of stripper.
“Now, I’ll do it
again.” Jon did it again. Jon repeated this four times until the gallon
of stripper was empty and his mop bucket sat filled with a frothy floor
stripping solution.
“That should do
it.” Jon dropped a mop into the
solution, filled another mop bucket with plain water and rolled them to the
front hallway. He then brought up his
floor scrubber and a couple of black scrubbing pads as well as a wet-vac, scraper,
broom, dustpan, dust mop, wax and wax mop.
Jon was ready.
To begin, Jon
first made sure to move everything off of the floor. He set the small items up on shelves and
countertops and made sure no wires or other loose debris was left on the
floor. Next he swept the edges and then
dust mopped the entire room and hallway.
After picking up the pile of dirt, Jon was ready to lay the stripper.
As Jon was about
to begin, a small, brightly colored object lying on the counter caught his
eye. Jon walked over to examine what it
was. A collectors stamp from 1911 stared
back at him. It was in mint condition
and extremely rare. Jon picked it up and
looked closely at the intricate detail in the picture on the surface. It was amazing. Next to the stamp lay a paper that had been
printed off the Internet describing the stamp.
It said the stamp was one of only 100 made and it was worth
$10,000. Wow, Jon thought to himself.
Too bad it’s not mine. I could sure use the cash. After pondering the possibilities a bit more,
Jon went back to work.
Picking up the
mop from the solution bucket, Jon liberally spread it out on the floor. The trick was to lay it heavy enough so it
wouldn’t dry and to have it thick enough so that it would loosen the old wax so
it could be effectively scrubbed off with the scrubber. Working his way backwards out of the file
room, Jon continued down the hallway spreading his solution until he reached
the doorway. Stopping, Jon put the
stripping mop back into the mop bucket and rolled it through the door and onto
the rugs and rags he had laid down on the main hallway floor to prevent his
stripper from removing the wax there.
Now all he had to do was wait about 10 minutes for the stripper to
work.
During
his down time, Jon unwound the scrubber’s electrical cord, locked the
insta-lock and pad onto the bottom of the machine and prepared the other items
that would be used to scrub off the old wax. Glancing at his watch, Jon saw
that the 10 minutes were about to expire.
Picking up the electrical cord in one hand, Jon tipped the machine back
with the other and carefully rolled it down the hallway and into the file room. Walking as if on a skating rink, Jon
cautiously plugged the machine into a centrally located outlet. He then gingerly walked back to his scrubber,
adjusted the handle and set to work.
Jon
began in the corner of the room and started working his way toward the
door. After scrubbing a quarter of the
room, Jon noticed that some of the old wax wasn’t coming off. Dark and light areas of tile stood out in
contrast to one another. Shaking his
head, Jon stopped scrubbing.
“Dog
gone it!” he mumbled under his breath.
“I hate it when this happens. Now
I’m going to have to strip it more than once and waste a lot more time.” Walking slowly back down what seemed to be a
more-than-usual slippery hallway floor, Jon suddenly stopped.
“I
know what I can do to save myself some work!”
Jon’s
face beamed with delight as he headed back to his storage area. When he returned, Jon opened a bottle of
industrial strength ammonia and glugged it into his stripping solution. This
will take the wax off, Jon thought to himself. Using the stripping mop like a mixing stick,
Jon sloshed the stripper-laden solution around until it was thoroughly
mixed. He then carefully re-laid the
stripping solution over the entire surface of the floor.
As
the stripper-laced solution began to spread, the ammonia fumes began to
rise. Jon’s eyes started watering and
the more they watered, the more the fumes reacted with his tears. Jon could hardly see where he was going as he
spread his solution around the room.
Blinking profusely to try and clear his eyes didn’t seem to help either. It was as if he were looking through his
car’s windshield in extremely heavy rain with wipers that didn’t work. Jon backed into a counter and knocked a stack
of papers off onto the floor. Blotting
his eyes with the back of his hands, Jon reached down to pick up the sopping
wet material. Jon gathered up the
scattered papers and tried to shake off the excess stripping solution. As he did so, the ink on the paper spread out
in all directions like beautiful blooming flowers. Jon’s heart stopped. On the top line of the stack of each paper it
read From the Office of the
Principal.
“Oh
no!” Jon cried out, tears streaming down his face. Jon had had some unfortunate run-ins with the
principal in the past, and this was not something he needed today. Scanning quickly down the page, Jon noticed
that not only were the papers from Vance, the principal, but they were papers
describing some new administrative procedures that were being put into
effect. To add insult to injury, Jon’s
eye caught site of a sticky note hanging precariously on the edge of the desk
from which Jon had knocked off the papers.
It appeared to be the note describing what this stack of information was
for. Jon picked it up. It said simply Please make copies for our meeting on Friday the 10th. I’ll pick them up at 10:00 a.m.
Vance. Jon looked at his
watch. It said 10:05 a.m.
He glanced at the calendar.
Friday, October 10th.
Jon knew that Vance would be there any second.
Unsure
of what to do, Jon quickly spread the papers out on top of the counter to
dry. He knew it wouldn’t do much good,
but he didn’t dare throw them away either.
With his eyes watering profusely and his breathing becoming labored from
the overpowering odor of the ammonia, Jon decided to leave the area and get some
fresh air. Turning toward the door he
heard someone yelling his name. Without
thinking, he replied “in here.”
Immediately he heard the sound of someone running, not walking, toward
the hall leading to the file room.
Another image exploded in Jon’s mind.
No ‘Wet Floor’ signs. I didn’t put any ‘Wet Floor’ signs down at
the doorway to the hall. As his
brain was flashing this message across the banner of his mind, Vance was
careening forward and backward sliding down the hallway trying to catch his
balance all the while letting out a loud “whoaaaaaaaa.” As if in slow motion, Jon’s eyes raised
toward the hallway just in time to see Vance whoosh by, streams of stripping
solution spraying from both sides of his shoes, his body out-of-control, his
arms flailing as he tried to keep his balance.
Jon took one step forward and leaned out the door just in time to see
Vance’s feet hit the carpet at the end of the hall abruptly stopping his
forward momentum and sending him hurdling into a water cooler. The cooler flew into the wall crashing onto
the floor. The sound of bubbling water
emanated from around the corner. Vance
lay in a heap, soaked from head to toe, his tie askew, his hair a mess and his
eyes watering profusely from his ride down the ammonia-laden air tunnel. A slight groan issued forth from Vance, but
he didn’t move.
Jon
felt his heart stop. With his eyes still
watering and his breathing becoming more and more labored in the atmosphere of
ammonia, Jon cautiously made his way down the hall to see if Vance was
hurt.
“Are
you okay?” Jon asked between gasps of breath.
Vance
looked up at him with red, swollen eyes.
His face was puffy and sweat rolled in streams down his face. “I’m allergic to ammonia,” Vance gasped
between breaths. “Call 911.”
Jon
stood there stunned for a moment. Then,
without thinking, he grabbed Vance under the arms and drug him into the next
room and out another door where he could get some fresh air. Vance’s breathing began to improve, but his
eyes continued to swell and his sweating increased. Jon called 911 and within minutes the
paramedics and fire department were on the scene. Red, a big fireman whom Jon had met under
previous circumstances, asked Jon what had happened. After a brief explanation by Jon and a few
tests of Vance’s vital signs by the paramedics, the paramedics and firemen lifted
Vance onto a stretcher. Vance struggled
to lean toward Jon and with an ammonia-damaged voice whispered, “Call the
superintendent and tell him I won’t be at the meeting.” Jon swallowed hard and confirmed the request
with a nod of his head. The paramedics
closed the doors on the Aid Unit and Vance rode away.
Jon
trudged back inside, called the superintendent and explained what had
happened. After an animated discussion,
Jon hung up. Jon stood thinking for a
few minutes and then headed back to finish his floor. Before reentering the area, Jon donned a
respirator. When he went back to the
hallway and file room, things were just as he’d feared they’d be. All of the stripper had dried and the work
required to fix the problem was now going to be ten times harder. Taking a deep breath, Jon got back to
work. Rolling his stripping solution
back into the file room, Jon dunked the mop into the bucket and then began
reapplying the solution. As he backed
himself out of the door, something out of the corner of his eye caught his
attention. Looking up, Jon saw what used
to be a beautiful exotic plant sitting on the shelf that the head secretary had
just brought back from a trip to Hawaii . Jon had seen it a couple of times before with
its beautifully colored flowers, unique design, fragrant odor and unusual
appearance. However, what he was looking
at now was a barren, black, drooping pile of leaves and flowers. Horrified, Jon realized that he’d forgotten
to remove it from the room before he put the ammonia into the water. The ammonia fumes had been absorbed by the
plant instead of carbon dioxide and within just a few minutes it had begun to
die. Since the incident with Vance had
taken more time than he realized, the ammonia had had plenty of time to wreak
havoc on this beautiful work of nature.
Jon’s heart sank and he lowered his head disgusted with where his day
was heading.
Since there was nothing Jon could do about
the plant, he finished laying his solution in the hallway and plugged in his
scrubber. Planting his feet so he didn’t
slip when the machine started, Jon gripped the handle and squeezed the
switch. Instantly the machine came to
life and Jon compensated for the centrifugal force created by the scrubber by
pulling the opposite direction. Jon had
used the scrubber several times before.
He knew that by lifting the handle up slightly, the machine would move
left and by letting it down slightly it would go right. Too much either direction and he would lose
control of the machine. As Jon began
scrubbing, the slippery floor lost its slipperiness and became just dirty water. Not only was the stripper working, but the
added touch of ammonia was removing all the wax, not just part of it. Jon worked up a sweat, his breathing sounding
like Darth Vader through the respirator.
His eyes were watering again and he found himself constantly reaching up
and wiping the salty sweat from his eyes using the back of his hand.
Jon
finished scrubbing the old wax off of the file room and started working on the
hallway. Another trickle of sweat
tickled the side of his face and with his right hand he reached up to wipe it
away. When he did so, he found, not a
bead of sweat, but a spider crawling on his cheek. Jon was terrified of spiders. Jon freaked out. Slapping and swiping at his face to kill the
spider caused Jon to lose complete control of the scrubber. Because Jon was
jumping and moving wildly up and down as he attempted to remove the tiny arachnid
from his head, the scrubber was also being lifted up and down. In so doing, the scrubber began to whip back
and force wildly. Suddenly caught
between killing the spider and controlling the machine, Jon’s brain
short-circuited. The machine went wild
and began smashing into one side of the hall and then the other. Jon grabbed the handle with both hands to
steady the machine, but then he was immediately reminded of the spider on his
face as he felt eight tiny legs scurrying across his face to safety. Jon let go of one handle to get rid of the
spider and in so doing lost control of the scrubber. More holes appeared everywhere the machine
hit, chunks of sheetrock fell into the stripper solution creating a muddy mess
and sheetrock dust filled the air. Jon immediately
grabbed both handles to steady the machine.
Sweat
rolled down Jon’s face in tiny rivulets, but he couldn’t tell the difference
between a sweat trickle and arachnid feet.
Shaking his head violently trying to dislodge the spider while at the
same time trying to control the scrubber, Jon found himself losing the
battle. When the spider crawled into his
nose, Jon lost it. Releasing both hands
from the scrubber, it took off wildly down the hall careening out of control
knocking holes in the wall near the floor and at the level of the handles.
Unfortunately, Jon had inadvertently locked the scrubber in the “on” position so
it just kept running. Jon grabbed his
nose and felt a “pop” as the spider’s body was crushed in his nasal cavity. Violently blowing his nose, Jon dislodged the
spider and quickly wiped it off his face.
He then ran after the machine.
The
scrubber reached the end of the hall at the same time Jon killed the
spider. It then raced into the larger
hallway where it began to spin in circles wrapping up the rugs and rags lying
on the floor as well as twisting the electrical cord into circles under the
machine. Jon ran out of the short
hallway, slipped on the hall because of his stripper-laden shoes, slid into the
opposite wall and crashed to the floor.
The scrubber continued to spin and move forward at the same time until
it eventually crashed into the schools football display case shattering
it. At the same time the electrical plug
pulled from the socket and the machine stopped.
Dazed,
Jon looked up. Glass lay strewn across
the floor, a cloud of white sheetrock dust rolled out of the hallway, the rugs,
rags and cord were wrapped in a large ball around the scrubber and the hallway
was a muddy mess. Getting slowly to his
feet, Jon stood up, let his head clear and then began the slow, arduous task of
cleaning up the mess.
A
couple of hours later, Jon had everything back to some semblance of order other
than the holes in the walls which he’d have to fix at a future time. Now that the floor was prepped, Jon could
apply a few coats of wax. Jon made his
way into the file room where he began laying wax. For once, everything went smooth. The wax went on easy, the floor shone and
everything looked beautiful. Jon applied
three coats of wax to give it a good shine and to protect the floor for a good
long while. Jon finished within 30
minutes or so of his shift being over.
After the last
coat of wax dried, Jon went back to the file room to shut off the lights and
lock things up for the day. As he
reached for the switch on the wall, he saw something lying on the floor. Jon walked over to examine it. His heart jumped into his throat! There, lying face up in the last coat of wax
was the rare stamp he had seen that morning. Jon reached down to pick it up, hoping with
all his might that it had just fallen off the counter after the wax had dried. But it wasn’t to be. To his horror, he found that it had fallen
off sometime after the last coat of wax had been applied and it had dried in
the third layer. There was no way he was
going to remove it without ruining it.
Jon
didn’t know what to do, so he left the stamp as it was and turned out the
lights. After locking the door, Jon
walked over to his mail slot, depressed, frustrated and angry. Thumbing through a few catalogs and a couple
staff related notes, Jon came across an envelope with his name on it. Curious, he opened it. Inside was a note. It read:
Dear Jon.
Just a quick note to
say thanks for all you do around our school.
I know you work hard and sometimes things don’t always go the way you
want. Still, you try and that’s what
counts. To show my appreciation for your
continued support, I’ve left a gift for you.
You’ll find it on the counter in the file room. It’s a small collector’s stamp with a
beautiful picture on it that I know you’ll like! Do with it as you please. It’s yours to sell or keep. Thanks again for everything.
The
note was signed Vance Livingston,
Principal.
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