i scoured the place:
an empty soft pack of camels, little debbie brownie wrappers, cut-up school brochures, notebook paper, a bottle of hand sanitizer, gum, 1/2 a can of strawberry soda, pieces of wax, half pencils, broken pieces of metal, earrings, suckers, condom wrappers, kleenex wads, frayed pieces of wool, etc.
i put it, dust and all, in a box and threw it in a dumpster.
and all the while, i couldn't stop thinking about the shit-smelling people who made the mess for me, who walked through and left behind what they didn't want, hoping against hope that no one would ever do the same thing to them. i couldn't stop thinking about their fat faces and the way they'd stumble up the steps to the door, weighed down by their own skin and an inability to metabolize half their diets. i thought of their ugliness and their mean spirits, walking past me, all uppity, haughty, hoity-toity, ignorant and so far from bliss even they could sense it.
i fucking hate cleaning up after people, after folks who probably keep their own homes spotless. or don't. who fucking cares? stop leaving your shit for me to sweep up, you toads.
i'm turning into a misanthrope - hateful and suspicious from my spinning head down to my freezing toes.
i'm turning into a curmudgeon, and i'm not yet 30.
people i don't even know are ruining my days, and i am letting them.
the insurance is nice though.
3 comments:
janitor jobs brew angst. and the exposure is so concentrated. 5 or so hours of only cleaning up plastic cups full of tobacco spit from bleachers, wiping up nacho cheese from bleacher seats and greenish brown shit from toilet seats, mopping what somebody hacked out off the floor and dousing a locker room with all sorts of cleaning spray just to get rid of the obnoxious sweat smell that permeates the hallway. how can that teach you compassion? it takes another 5 hours to at least be able to not glare at every passerby accusingly.
-3 windchill
Nucklehead driver thinking there's a chance his trailer with a 13 inch clearance might be able to clear the 15 inch chunk of snow in the parking lot gives it a go.
20 minutes later
dark,
freezing,
windy as hell.
cover-alls on
with tools to small to maneuver with gloved hands I crawl under the trailer, 13 inch clearance, 23 inch chest.
middle of the parking lot
cold,
dark,
flash light that probably should have been charged the night before
-3 windchill
1 hour later.
hands so cold if I rap them one more time I might loose the one and only finger I have left that isnt swollen and bleeding
truck leaved for sunny Dallas and back to the shop for me,
I love my job
I earn my money
I cant wait for the Canadian club and tap I have waiting for me at home
yes, mother fucker
trucker.
yes.
greasy hair,
like your axle
-the obvious music
playing in your cab,
motherfucker.trucker.
just to dallas, no
body but you,
you
not even the scraggly
dooooood
helping you
to
clear
the fifteen feet of pure white snow
.
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