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I’m at the post office doing my janitor job,
miffed because I started the day by stepping in dog shit. I’ve already
put in four days at another job doing shipping and I’m tired.
At work, the mail carriers are quiet. There’s usually lots of friendly banter, but it’s December and the Christmas season is madness for postal workers. We’re in the aftermath of September 11th and the anthrax scare is still on.
I’m not ready to deal with the public. If I don’t get the lobby done early then I have to clean when people are walking around. Not fun. Today, I get out to the lobby later than usual. People are standing around waiting for the clerks to open up the front door. The customers just stand there watching me with surly, dull expressions as I scrub counters and sift through the garbage, separating paper, aluminum cans, and plastic. No one says good morning. I continue my routine, then pause, and look back at them, hoping to see a familiar face. They’re a grim-looking bunch.
Okay, I think to myself, should I make an announcement? Something like: "Hello post office patrons! I’m a janitor. I’m not doing community service. This is my job. The tool in my right hand is called a broom and is used for building maintenance."
The dour clientele continue staring. They don’t speak to each other. I glance at them again, wondering if I could send subliminal cheery messages to change their moods…or my attitude. Instead, I go about my work and hum a gospel song.
Generally, I like my janitor job. I’m paid well, and am my own boss. Sometimes phrases such as "unskilled labor" try to sneak into my psyche and drag me down.
I have to be careful; one sees it all in this kind of work. I find used Pampers, empty whiskey bottles, porno, syringes and other unmentionables. Fortunately, these glorious by-products of society aren’t an everyday occurrence, but like a crime scene technician, a cautious custodian wears protective gloves.
I’ve almost completed the lobby. Looks good… all spit and polish, military style.
A lanky woman, an acquaintance, comes in to check her mail. She is trendy, sophisticated and always wears unique clothing. She stops and looks at me, saying, "Oh, hi. Um, I didn’t know you…did….this." She glances away for a moment.
" I’m okay, how are you doing?" I reply, adding with a chuckle. "Yep I picked up another job. You know how it is." She doesn’t.
We make small talk and she tells about her recent trip to Italy. Then she goes about her business with a bewildered look on her face.
All I have to do now is get the windows done and spritz a bit of nice smelling essential oil. I start washing the large windows, thinking about the painting I’m working on at home.
An elderly man wearing a San Francisco Giants baseball cap comes into the lobby. I greet people, but mostly I keep my eyes on my work. I just want to get the lobby done and get back inside.
"You’re doing a great job, young ‘un," he calls out to me. I turn, looking him full in the face and smile. "Thank you. You made my day… you really did," I reply.
He turns the key in his mailbox, and says, "Well you brought me good luck. No bills, today."
"Aw shucks. I don’t
think I had anything to do with it," I answer with a grin. I’m feeling
much better about the day. His words are soothing; nagging self-doubts fade
and I chide myself for being self-conscious about honest labor.
back to: Literary Arts
Home Literary Arts Visual Arts About Zephyr Contact Graphic Version
Mendocino College Online Journal of the Arts - Spring 2002 Text Version
Mendocino College
1000 Hensley Creek Road
Ukiah, California 95482