Random Ramblings

Silly Story to Work off the Rust

My father always said there was nothing sweeter than a beer after a hard day’s work. For him, it was exhausting to sit on a couch and squint at an old CRT screen while cursing out the blurry players throwing a pigskin around. Thankfully I didn’t inherit that work ethic after I left home.

But I definitely acquired his thirst.

In my defense, hardly any janitor is a teetotaler. Wiping up filthy surfaces after the worst of humanity expels their foul byproducts has a way of destroying any desire for sobriety. Yes, I’ve seen some s***. Don’t bother asking, you really don’t want to know. And I’d prefer not to have those hideous recollections festering in my mind. After each shift, I do my best to forget.

So when I glimpsed a colorful placard advertising dollar drafts, it felt like a signal from the universe that it was Miller Time. The dive bar was a grungy, seedy affair. I often passed it on my way to more inviting haunts like bustling sports pubs or trendy grills.

But cheap booze is awfully hard to pass up. Especially when you make peanuts like me.

“Sinner’s Respite,” the wooden sign proclaimed, swinging gently in the evening breeze. I raised an eyebrow at the old-fashioned cartoon below the name. A time-worn devil was tossing back a frothy ale while another sun-faded demon belched fire, something I found both charming and slightly questionable.

A thick haze of smoke and dingy lighting enveloped me upon entering, sounds of glasses clinking, harsh laughter, and curses cutting through the stale cigarette fog. Even before my eyes adjusted to the murky interior, I knew a rough crowd when I heard it.

I couldn’t have looked more out of place in a sea of leather, tattoos, and scars. But not everyone had a biker fetish. There was a few clean-cut suit types at the pool table, some shady hoodies in a booth, and an old-timer with a paddy cap nursing a whiskey.

And here I was, striding in with my blue jeans and a white t-shirt. This was the moment in a movie when the entire bar goes silent at the approach of a newcomer, warily eyeing up the outsider. But surprisingly, I found no such suspicion at my arrival. In fact, the elderly gentlemen waved me over.

“Nice to see some fresh blood in these parts,” He slurred, raising the tumbler and sloshing amber liquid. A thin piece of metal slid out from his sleeve and clinked on the wooden bar. I handed it to him, unsure of its purpose.

“Think you dropped this?”

The old drunk blinked owlishly before clumsily snatching it from my grasp. “Much appreciated, I’m always losing this damn rake. Not that I need it… Everything is digital these days…” He mumbled as I nodded politely.

Do you know those people who instantly feel a connection or kinship with someone after exchanging a few words? It wasn’t long before my new companion was regaling me with his life story as I patiently waited for the bartender to make her rounds.

Listening with half an ear, I learned that Abe (the drunk) had served a few tours, been discharged, got married, divorced, and had been in and out of jail more times than I could keep track of. By the time I got my domestic dollar draft, I was already ready to leave.

“Is Abe telling you about the good old days?” A slim bald stranger slid into the seat next to me. He was a tapestry of color, vibrant ink decorating nearly every inch of exposed flesh.

I nodded, mouth full of mediocre beer.

“You know, he might not look like much but he’s a living legend,” The skinhead grinned, revealing several gold teeth. “He can lift pretty much anything with those magic fingers.”

Glancing at Abe again, I wondered how muscular this booze-hound must be. “That strong, eh?”

Snorting, the old man wiped his whiskey-soaked mustache. “Strength be damned. It’s a matter of skill. Brains over brawn.”

I nodded again, hiding my confusion with an air of false acumen. “Makes sense.”

“So what’s your line of work?” The bald guy asked, raising a hand to catch the bartender’s eye. I groaned inwardly, hating the question. Being a janitor is one of the least sexy-sounding jobs out there. If I’m lucky, people immediately lose interest. If not, I end up being the victim of endless mockery.

“I’m a.. uh…” My brain struggled to come up with a better euphemism for s***-scrubber. “… a cleaner.” I sighed weakly.

This had the opposite effect I expected.

His eyes widened, a glimmer of excitement. “Really? You didn’t look the type but the best ones rarely do…” I shrugged. “Wouldn’t exactly call me the best but thanks.”

Baldy put a finger in his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. “Oi! Eric! Get over here!”

Abe leaned towards me with a newfound appreciation. “Not many cleaners come round here, you lot are an elusive bunch. Eric is a good lad. You’ll like him.”

One of the suits wandered over from the pool table. “Look, Damien, if you’re asking for another drink, you’d better find someone else with deep pockets…”

Damien shook his head and gestured to me. I sank a little lower in my seat, unused to all the sudden attention. “He’s a cleaner too, Eric! I thought you were the only one in these parts.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your specialty?” Hearing the question directed towards me, I looked up over the rim of my plastic cup into a pair of icy green eyes. I fought the urge to shiver, feeling as though I was being vivisected beneath that emotionless stare.

“Speciality?” I swallowed nervously.

“You know, what’s your style? When you have a mark what do you do?”

I frowned and thought about all the graffiti and sharpie stains I scrubbed off stalls that day. “Well, I don’t like to leave a single trace behind. It looks bad for my employer.”

Eric nodded, a small smile creeping over his stoic expression. “Well of course. That’s the general consensus. What kind of tools do you use?”

“Ahhh, the typical ones? Gloves, garbage bags, powerful chemicals.”

“But that’s just for disposal. I mean more in terms of… removal.”

I recalled scraping up gum from under school desks. “I find a razor blade to be pretty effective.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Up close and personal, very impressive. Isn’t it a bit messy, though?”

I laughed. “Not if you do it right. Besides, cleaning up messes comes with the job description.”

Somehow, I was earning more and more respect from the small group around me. This was turning out to be an interesting evening. Who knew janitors held so much clout?

When I called for a refill, Eric put a black card on the table. “It’s on me tonight. I insist.” He refused to take no for an answer. At least I wouldn’t be running up a huge tab with these cheap beers, I mused. But then he ordered a bottle of brandy and poured me a healthy glass.

“Tell me, what was your most difficult assignment?”

Sighing heavily, I racked my brain for a particularly memorable day. “I had a hard time at this courthouse. Most of the time I work late at night but they wanted me to take care of it while a trial was going on. It was an emergency you see…”

This got a low whistle of admiration. “During a trial? Ballsy…”

I grimaced. “If you want to call it that. Damn place was a nightmare.” The memory of crusty walls and urine-soaked floors made me shudder.

“How did you handle it?”

“Well, I managed to get everything finished right before they called a recess. I was in the bathroom when the judge walked in and that’s when the accident happened.” The irascible judge slipped on the freshly mopped tiles and fell with a roar.

“You knocked over a judge?” Eric was giving me a slack-jawed stare. “It was easier than you think. Getting away was the tricky part. Normally people don’t pay much attention to me but everyone was on high alert after it happened. I was lucky enough to slip out through a side door, undetected.”

That’s when I noticed that nearly everyone in the bar was listening to my story, rapt with attention. I took another swig of brandy and grinned.

“If you think that was crazy, let me tell you about the time I was assigned to a police station…”