I'm a maintenance man at a local school district. Not the guy that cleans up the messes your kid makes in the bathroom, No, that is the Custodian.
I Thank God in Heaven every day that I am not THAT guy. The stuff that they have to put up with would curl your hair!
No, I am the Maintenance Man.
I am The Fixer of things, the guy that comes along after your kid has busted the stall door off of the toilet stall, for the third time.
Yeah, the Custodian is thankful that he is not me.
And, I'll let you in on a little secret. After breaking a stall door off of the hinges the third time, I don't always fix it.
MOST times I remove the thing and take it downstairs.
I figure if it is hated that much, then they didn't want it there anyway.
If I do replace it, I run a little electricity through the hinges...setting it up so that if the contact is broken, the door receives a little jolt. Along with the walls. AND the kid.
I've not been there to see it occur, but I hear that the kid does do a little screaming and dancing...a kind of "electric jig" so to speak.
Not really...but it's a dream I would like to pursue.
It is fun being the maintenance man.
One day, when I was in a good mood, I was walking to my office just before dismissal, and I noticed something odd.
I should warn you, that "odd" in a maintenance man's lexicon is something he knows he has to mess with. And today, odd was a kid, standing at a door, with other kids behind him.
That in itself is nothing. I see that all the time. I mean, heck, they only move with anything like haste around dismissal.
What made it odd was that the door had a handle that was meant to have a key cylinder in it on the INSIDE handle.
(I told you, we notice odd things!) Even odder was that the young man, (a high schooler) had decided to put his index finger into the hole where the cylinder would have gone!
My first reaction was to stop and ask why such a handle was placed on the inside of the door...but my mind was busy playing with the kid...
So I pulled out my best fake Scottish Accent.
"Laddy, Wut on Earth you be doin'?"
The kid, finger in the door, froze.
"Are you fingerin' me door?"
He looks down at his hand and back at me...
"Really now, lad, is it that enjoyable that you cannot pull it out? Did you even think to ask the door's permission, or do ya just go about sticking your finga in my doors at random?"
The kids behind him are laughing... The poor kid at the door is trying to decide if I'm serious.
"I mean, what kinda man goes about fingerin' poor, helpless, defenceless, doors?"
"How many does this make?" I asked, I couldn't stop...the Scotsman is my alter ego, and He has way too much fun when He inhabits me.
"How do I know where that finger has been? Do you use protection when ya finger them? Cause it sure looks to me like you don't!"
The kids behind them are howling in laughter, I am not sure what is going through HIS mind.
Can't stop now.
"I mean, what am I going to do if me door gets in trouble? Da next thing ya know, we could have a lot of little hatches runnin' about! Then what do I do? Who's gonna take care of dem?"
This poor kid is trying to smile, but he's sweating bullets.
"And LOOK, Ya still haven't even bothered to pull it out of the poor thing!" "Ya just keep fingering! Is it that enjoyable? "Are ya gonna do the decent thing here?"
I steal a look at the clock. Ten seconds left.
"Come now lad, I'll help ya out here." I place my left hand on his, finger still in the door.
"By the authority vested in me by the school district, I now pronounce you man and door."
"You may kiss the panel."
Behind him the whole class is cheering me on.
I walk away as the bell rings.