There I was, merely trying to fulfill my duty as a building care specialist (that looks better on résumés than "dust bunny collector"). My jaw was set with determination, my brow was furrowed in concentration, and my superhero cape was tightly fastened. I've been eyeing the elevator in the building for a while now. Those particles of dust and hair and little snippets of paper have been mocking me since the day I started. After a conversation with a friend last night about how to go about vacuuming an elevator (no, I'm not kidding; that was a legitimate conversation), I knew today was the day.
It was finally time.
My time to shine.
Or rather, the elevator's time to shine.
So, like any rational custodian would do, I grabbed a trusty vacuum from the closet and set off to work. Now, there's no outlet in the elevator. So I had to use that special variety of intuition only janitors can hope to possess, and I decided to use the nearest outlet outside of the elevator.
When I entered the lift to commence Operation Show This Elevator Who's Boss, I made sure to put a big garbage can in between the doors so they wouldn't close while I was working.
*Cue Just Whistle While You Work* (Except I was actually listening to a country station on Pandora.)
Life was blissful. For a few cherished moments, it seemed as though all was well with the world. The carpet was under my control. I was its Master. I was, in short, the Master Commander (Olan Rogers, ladies and gentlemen).
...And then that bliss was shattered. An unearthly buzzing sound pierced the air, and I knew the elevator was singing me the song of its people. I turned to look in horror.
THE DOORS WERE CLOSING.
And things like this prove that I'd be no good at being an EMT or anything. I don't know what to do in situations that just happen, like this. I pushed the "Door Open" button, but that didn't do squat; the doors kept closing. So I shoved the garbage out of the way, and by then, I didn't have time to do anything else before I was cut off from the rest of humanity.
So I stood there in the elevator with the vacuum. "That's okay," I told myself. "I didn't hit any floor button, so the elevator's not going to move." Well, guess what.
That bad boy moved.
Yup, right on up to the next floor it soared. My custodial intuition was flickering, much like the flame of a candle in a damp cavern. My superhero cape (which, in case you haven't figured it out yourself, is only metaphorical) blew away and died on the wind, just like my dreams of becoming a professional elevator vacuumer.
So the doors opened up on the next floor. I looked down and saw that yellow cord stuck in the crack between the floor and elevator--you know, the one that makes you grip your credit cards and phones a little bit more tightly when you walk over it. I tried pulling on the cord, but, (much like pushing the "Door Open" button) that wasn't going to do a gosh-derned thing.
I radioed a supervisor for help. Soon enough, my boss's boss came to the rescue. He looked at the elevator, with that yellow cord extending through the top of the doors.... and started laughing.
And then he thanked me for vacuuming the elevator. HA. What a nice guy. He was like, "I can tell you're really worked up about this, but don't worry about it. It's okay." Darn right I was worked up. I pretty much thought I was going to DIE. I almost used the emergency phone or the call-the-firefighters button! But he was able to get it unstuck after a few painful minutes. The vacuum was broken. And the outlet shut itself off. But he was still reassuring me that everything was fine.
He told me in all his years of working here, I was the first student he had ever heard or seen this happen to. He thought it was pretty funny.
*Sigh* And my thoughtful not-actually-coworkers-because-we-have-different-shifts had written a nice note for me on the board. Even after this incident, thinking about it made me smile.
Well, I did, for the most part!
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