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.
DING
DONG!
I
could just dance around with a bunch of munchkins right now!
Ding, dong, the cus is gone!
ReplyDeleteWhich old cus?
The cussed cus!
Ding, dong the cussed cus is gone!
Sioux stole my song!
ReplyDeleteBe sure to break in the new guy right!
Sioux,
ReplyDeleteI could have done that. But I didn't want to be seen as rude...
****
Kathy,
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.