Page 29 of Corporate Escapades

“Bye,” said Chase. “Hang in there. You’ll do fine.”

Paris didn’t feel like his encouragement was helpful. She wanted to crawl into a hole and hide until the nightmare ended. She also wanted to bludgeon Vic with a mop for getting her into this mess.

When they were young, the DeMarcé and Alarie children would play hide and seek throughout the Building Maintenance Department. Burt and his crew would play along. There had been a day when Vic and Paris had felt as if Building Maintenance was a magic kingdom that belonged to them. Those days had long since disappeared.

“Your first task,” said Burt, “will be to empty the trash and recycling throughout the building. We won’t do any training on hazardous materials yet.”

“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” said Paris, as she rolled her eyes.

Burt paused and stared her down for a moment. “You may think this is a joke or a job that’s beneath you, but let me tell you something, missy, it’s people like me that keep your world clean and moving along. If we don’t do our jobs, others can’t do theirs. Your streets would be littered with trash, and your restrooms smeared with poop and heaven knows what else. Think of the nastiest gas station bathroom you’ve ever had to use, and then imagine if it was worse. You’re welcome,” he snapped. “And, Paris, honey, don’t look at me as grandpa during this. See me as your boss,” he requested.

“I’m sorry,” she said, averting her eyes. “I didn’t mean to offend you. You know I’ve never had to clean before. This is outside my wheelhouse.”

“Well, sweetheart, don’t you think it’s time you learned to be a proper adult?” asked her grandfather. “This is work. Real life lessons. Now, follow me,” he ordered.

Vic had kept his mouth shut the entire time Burt spoke. He wasn’t thrilled to be a janitor, and he realized he couldn’t complain since he was the one who dragged Paris down with him. He worried about what would come next. What if she couldn’t do it? They could be trapped at this job for months. He’d have to apologize and get on her good side.

They followed Burt quietly to the supply closet, where he explained what was expected of them.

Paris left janitorial with a large cart that held two bins. One bin for trash, the other for recycling. When the bins filled, she was shown the designated locations for emptying. The job was pretty straightforward, but she wasn’t stoked. She didn’t want the ADG staff to see her traipsing around as a janitor. What would they think? How would they ever take her seriously in the future?

In actuality, no one seemed to pay any attention to Paris or Vic as they went about their jobs. Both had on their required work attire, which seemed to act like an invisibility cloak. Even when they passed by people they knew, no one noticed who they were or even acknowledged their presence. In emotional defense of her grandfather and his work, Paris became irritated that none of the other staff took notice of the people who were keeping their world clean. In the future, she would have to make a point of saying thank you more often to the maintenance and janitorial staff.

The first day was monotonous, but went by quickly. Day two seemed to last forever as they learned about safety and hazardous chemicals. Burt was long-winded in his explanations,and, as per usual, he thought he was pretty funny. Vic struggled to listen because he neither cared for long explanations nor Burt’s sense of humor. On day three, things took a serious turn for the worse.

Burt instructed Paris and Vic to clean the bathrooms on floor twelve. Little did Paris know, there was a clogged toilet on twelve, and it was her job to fix it. She went at it with her trusty plunger, but nothing seemed to budge. Putting some extra strength into it, she heaved the plunger down and was immediately sprayed with fecal matter, and heaven only knew what else. Shrieking, she jumped backward and stepped on the mop handle, which was lying on the floor. Losing her balance from the loose footing, she fell backward and cracked her head on one of the sinks, rendering herself unconscious.

Vic heard the scream as he was cleaning the men’s bathroom next door. Rushing into the women’s, he found Paris lying on the floor, still unconscious. Shaking her did nothing to bring her around, so he turned on the closest faucet and splashed cold water on her face, which immediately brought her to. Sputtering, she brushed water and dark matter away from her eyes.

“What happened?” she asked with confusion.

“Well, judging by the look of things, I’d say you got sprayed by the toilet and then tripped and hit your head on the sink. Here,” said Vic, handing her a dampened towel.

Grabbing the towel, she attempted to clean herself off. “Great. Now I’ll smell like a toilet all day.”

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You hit your head pretty hard.” Reaching out, he ran his fingers over the back of her head. “You have a pretty good bump back there. I think we should get you checked out.”

Pushing Vic away, she said with a sigh, “Just leave me alone. You’ve done enough.”

“Paris, I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I’m miserable too.”

“It really isn’t. This just goes to prove what an incredibly inconsiderate and self-centered jerk you are.”

“Well, it takes one to know one,” he spat back. “At least we get to work with your grandfather. That’s kind of a plus.” He smiled sheepishly. “Would an inconsiderate and self-centered jerk think you should see a doctor about the bump on your head?” Turning away from her, he went back to the men’s room. He wasn’t about to force her to get help, though he honestly was worried. When he was younger, one of his friends lost a parent to a ski injury in which they hit their head and refused to be looked over by a doctor.Freak accident, he thought.

At four-thirty, Vic headed back to Building Maintenance and the Janitorial wing. Paris was nowhere to be seen. “Hey, Burt, is Paris still here?” he asked.

“No, sir. Girl hit her head on a sink. It’s a crying shame how clumsy that one is. I made her go to medical. I even offered to stay with her, but she threw a fit, so I left her there and asked her to check in once she finished. She has a mild concussion, and seeing as she was covered in dark matter, and as she put it, traumatized, I sent her home for the remainder of the day. She’ll be fine, but check in on her.”

“Wow, okay,” replied Vic. “I’m calling it a day if that’s alright with you?”

“Sure thing, kid,” replied Burt.

“Thanks.” Peeling off his jumpsuit, he tossed it into the laundry bin. “See you tomorrow.”

Back at home, the shower was once again working, and Paris stood in the hot water, allowing the goo of the day’s miseries to run down her body and into the drain. She shuddered to think that she had managed to knock herself unconscious. Her grandfather told her she “really needed to be more careful,” which was obvious. Doctor Schuh couldn’t seem to understandthe scenario in which she went from plunging a toilet to unconscious on the ground. Chase met her at medical, and upon finding out she would be okay, couldn’t stop laughing about what had happened. He did apologize profusely in-between laughs, and he took the initiative to report back to her grandfather for her.

Rinsing the deep conditioner from her hair, she let the rest of her misery go. Two more days and the week would be over. With any luck, she would be back in the mailroom the following Monday. Feeling low, she wished she still had her pills. “Damn that Mya,” she said out loud. Dropping her head into her hands, she grumbled, “I hate my life.”

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