Wednesday, September 3, 2014


Mrs. Hillbilly Mom feels that an update is in order.

After several days of pushing her daintily-shod desk-feet back onto their designated tile corners, Mrs. HM took the bull by the horns and followed through with her idle threat. Or instructed The Pony to carry out her personal vendetta, anyway.

“I’m tired of having to reset my furniture when I come in every morning. Go across that back row and push those desks so their feet are two inches in front of the corners. We’ll see how much two inches doesn’t matter, won’t we?”

Let the record show that this tactic had been tried once last week, but the room was not cleaned at all that evening. Only the wastebasket was dumped. Detritus such as a mechanical pencil clip and a small wad of perforation tumbleweed did not move. Something was afoot. The morning custodian had taken some time off, and another was filling in. Don’t know the deal that swapped for Cus overnight, but I imagine it was one big maintenance department Pass the Trash game.

So…this morning I noticed that my chair feet were EXACTLY on the corners. BOOYAH! Sweet victory!

This afternoon, Cus came out of the closet pushing the bright yellow mop cart and various accouterments. I swear, it was like a motor home towing a car towing a boat towing a golf cart towing a trailer of bicycles. With a turducken in the oven of the motor home.

“Hey, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. How’s it goin’? This is it for me. My last day. I just wanted to say au revoir.”

“Oh. You’re going to Basementia?”

“Yes. It’s been a little slice of heaven here.”

“Well then, bon voyage!”

Seriously. Don’t try to make me think you’re quitting. I heard last week that you were going to transfer so you could get off earlier. No skin off my desk feet.

Don’t know who we’ll get next, but it surely has to be a happy medium between Cus and the last one who was quite personable, giving the shirt off is back to help kids and faculty alike, although the level of cleaning was nothing to write home about.

Yep. My live wires and control center have been molested for the last time. And I can keep my classroom furniture arrangement without guilt.


I could just dance around with a bunch of munchkins right now!


Sioux said...

Ding, dong, the cus is gone!
Which old cus?
The cussed cus!
Ding, dong the cussed cus is gone!

Kathy's Klothesline said...

Sioux stole my song!

Be sure to break in the new guy right!

Hillbilly Mom said...

I could have done that. But I didn't want to be seen as rude...

Great minds think alike, you know. I Even-Stevened Sioux by stealing her name for Farmer H's hay shed: The Little Barbershop of Horrors.

All I want from a custodian is the floor swept each night, my trash emptied, and hands off my control center, microwave, and refrigerator. Is that too much to ask? I think not.