The Custodian
written on one 6x9 page in a steno notebook
Bill, the old janitor, was dead in his favorite chair. Not dead tired as he liked to complain, nor dead asleep as many used to come upon him in that very seat. No, Bill was plain old dead. No longer of this mortal coil. Post life.
His cause of death is unknown at this moment and won’t be discovered for some time, not until the former sanitation worker spends a fortnight on the slab. For now, he’s in his third favorite spot. The second is a leather recliner in the middle of the mall that will massage your back and legs for 25 cents. Maybe it’s gone up to 50 by now. His first is the LazyBoy at home, right next to Karolyn’s lounger. Karolyn was in that lounger at that very moment, continuing to work on her crochet opus. In about one hour, she’ll grow more and more excited to show Bill her progress.
For now, the rest of the office buzzes on, flying by, nose deep in digital cages of spreadsheets, templates, and deadlines. There was work to be done and today was not unlike any other. But Bill wasn’t (until now) an unseen specter of the white-grey halls of Building B. In fact, he was on a first name basis with just about every branch of the corporate Yggdrasil. And, for the most part, he was pleasant company to all. A housefly inspects Bill’s earlobe.
Nobody seemed bothered by Bill’s impromptu, afternoon nap. He had complained about getting little sleep the night before all morning. Besides, forty years of loyal stewardship to this small workspace would entitle anybody for a quick nap during the day. Barbara thinks to herself how lucky Karolyn is to bed with such a sound sleeper.
Jacob Hoskins, on the other hand, was in desperate need of the old janitor. After some on the clock loaf-pinching in a twice checked empty restroom, Jacob was surprised by a sudden spurt from the drain and a faceful of liquid brown made of wet tissue paper and Jacob’s unmentionables. As he fell to the floor, the plume continued to hose the men’s john with the force of a firehose on very, very low. Dripping wet and smelling like shit, Jacob forced himself out of the bathroom and into the break room.
“Say Bill, you don’t happen to know anything about plumbing, do you?”
“What happened, Jake?”
“Dear god, what’s that smell?”
“Could you please just help me, Bill? Bill?
The meat wagon arrived fifteen minutes later. Bill was pronounced dead at the scene. The stone-faced EMTs took him away. Jacob went home. One of the janitors from A. was brought in to finish Bill’s duties. That was that. The day wasn’t over yet. There was still lots of work to do.
The next morning, an office wide obituary popped up in everyone’s inbox:
Attention: Bill Landusky
As many of you know, our beloved Bill Landusky passed away in his sleep yesterday afternoon. Bill was an indispensable part of the Ohsscho family. He came to work every day, always smiling and with a joke at the ready. He kept our workspace clean and our morale sky high. An optional moment of silence will be held in the break room at noon for anybody who would like to pay their respects. As a reminder, Ohsscho offers two free virtual sessions with a mental health counselor as part of the employee benefits package. If you have any further questions, please reach out to your supervisor.
The other janitors never saw this email. Custodial staff aren’t given company emails. If Bill were alive today, he would have missed his own obituary.