How to Get on a Janitor's Bad Side (And Good Side)

If you recall my previous post, you know that I'm a janitor. I always used to feel bad for janitors. Like, "Aw, pobrecito. He has to clean up after everyone. That must be a terrible job." And actually.... it's not. Like, sure, there are occasionally things that I just plain don't wanna do because they're just plain unappealing. But it's not as bad as you might think. I am grateful for the slobs of the world. And also the not-slobs who use the garbage cans and toilet paper and other glamorous things.

However. There are ways to get on a janitor's bad side. So I'm going to clue you in on a few things.

First off: GUM. What in the world possesses people to stick chewed gum in random places? I don't get it!

Next off: Learn how to read signs. I'm honestly not sure how people can look at something that says Aluminum Cans and think it means Any-the-heck-thing you want.

Sometimes people like to leave giant, empty peanut butter jars and old banana peels under a chair in an obscure corner where they think I won't notice them........ I do. (And they wonder why we had a mouse in our building...)

Leaving a classroom in a condition like this is unacceptable if you are not an unsupervised four-year-old.

I'm really glad you and Runnis are so in love. Really. But you don't have to advertise it on any surface that can stand the pressure of graphite.

If you're also a custodian, don't do things like this. My job is not to fix your lousy job.

CHAIRS, CHAIRS, CHAIRS. I cannot rant on for long enough about chairs. This first picture is photographic evidence of the putting away of folding chairs in a manner that a half-brained monkey would grimace at. Seriously, stack them nicely so they all fit. (I had to fit over fifty more chairs into this room but had to rearrange all of these ones so I could do that.) The second is of chairs that should never be stacked. Because I have to push them over to the side and use all my body weight to un-stack them.

Um.... Don't forget your dirty laundry.

 Or your dirty tissues.

For GOODNESS sake, do NOT under ANY circumstances leave a cup full of liquid in a normal trash can! Especially when there's a drinking fountain right next to it!

On the note of garbage cans, don't play last-to-be-drafted-in-the-NBA-picks when you're trying to throw something away. (I dislike splatters, and so should you.)

And please actually use them. It's hard for someone who's technically under five feet to reach aaaalllll the way to the top of a locker to retrieve your empty hot chocolate container.

I'm not even sure why this happens (and probably don't want to know why), but this has happened multiple times.... Why do people leave a wad of crumpled up paper towel on the shelf in the stalls? The world may never know.

Don't stick things in places they don't fit.

 And don't leave your programs in every nook and cranny you can find.

Umm....

Please don't lick your finger and then proceed to write on the chalkboard. That's gross for both me and you.

Don't make me break out the goggles and gloves. I look like a big dork in them. (#BathroomSelfie #LikeTheUrinalsInTheBackground?)

And even though I've pointed out many things not to do, there are some things custodians really like. For example:

We do get a kick out of funny notes on our hand-made signs.

 And we do appreciate it when you bring our attention to the fact that something needs fixed. We're not psychics, after all.

And if you need something done but can't find one of us to ask, leave a polite note somewhere obvious so we can do what we can to help you.

I really am grateful for my job. And I really am grateful for the people who make it so I HAVE a job. So that means people like you, kind reader. You are too kind.

*This has been a public service announcement.*

"This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things."

I'm a custodian. I clean stuff. I take down chairs and tables. I come, I see, and I conquer. Occasionally I'll break vacuums when I'm trying to clean elevators. Sue me. (Michael Scott reference, anyone?)

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.

Here I had been on the verge of tears, worrying I would cost BYU thousands of dollars to fix the elevator I had most definitely just caused nearly irrevocable damage to... and the area supervisor was laughing. Whew. That was a relief.

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!

"I am a flamingo in a world of pigeons."

There are a few things in this world that can make a gal simultaneously want to cry her eyes out, starve out of stress, eat everything in sight, scream to the air in general, have a significant other to tell her it'll be all right, and take a nap.

College is one of them.

I love BYU. Absolutely adore it. The people are great, the classes are great, the atmosphere is great, the wards are great. Some are born great and others have greatness thrust upon them. I was launched into the second category, apparently, when I enrolled at BYU.

Maybe that quote from Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen that I used as the title should be flipped a little bit. *I* am a pigeon in a world of flamingos. EVERYONE ELSE HERE IS PERFECT AT EVERYTHING. At least, that's how it feels sometimes.

Sometimes, I do this cute little thing where I'm hyper-critical of every failed task I perform, every awkward sentence I utter, every chipped nail I leave unpainted... And you wanna know the grand total number of times that's ended up making me feel wonderful and confident?

Exactly zero.

Unnecessary self-criticism will never end in happiness. The thing that'll end in happiness isn't keeping a tally of all the mistakes you've ever made in your life. What's going to end in happiness is letting go of those things.

(I'm gonna shut myself up right there. One Frozen reference is quite enough for one blog post.)

Gosh darn it, I AM a flamingo in a world of pigeons! (I refer you back to the first picture.) I might not have the most melodic voice or nimble fingers, or the highest grades or number of followers on Twitter. But who needs all that? Surely not a strong, independent pink flamingo who don't need no man. (That's me.)

That's as deep as I can get right now. Like.... even that was a little too serious for this blog. But I think it's a good thing to remind ourselves of. We should be what we wanna be, and be proud of it.

I'm sorry this post isn't as illustrated as some of my other ones. And I know what you're thinking. "Krista, you're a college kid. You have SO much homework and cleaning and organizing and homework and socializing and homework and shopping (heh! Good one!) to do... Why aren't you wasting more time on your blog?"

Good question. Probably next time I have a big exam coming up or a stressful presentation to prepare for, I'll take the time to draw masterpieces via Paint. But since I'm relatively free tonight (it's a Friday night. I shouldn't be free. Just throwin' that out there), I have other things to waste my time on. Like dishes. And I am making some progress on my homework. Here's photographic evidence:

BREAK TIME!

Unnecessary Update of My Travels and Adventures

Here I am, driving the million miles (give or take a few thousand) to the foreign land of the Mormons. (That’s Utah, in case you haven’t heard of Mitt Romney.) Just kidding. There are definitely a number of Mormons out there but, while The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints does have a broad influence in the area, there are certainly members of other faiths or no faith at all, too.

The drive to and from Utah is a long one, and you need to find ways to entertain yourself if you don’t wanna die of boredom. So one time my little brother and I decided to talk in Southern American and English accents for a while. (My parents were none so thrilled that that was our choice of entertainment.)

This trip, here’s what I’ve done so far (this was written in Word, and I'm now able to post it several hours later, so many more exciting things have since occurred):

1. Gotten in the car. This, I’m told, is one of those inevitable parts of traveling. When I’m president, things will be different.

2. Buckled my seatbelt. Safety first. (However, throughout the trip, the seatbelt mysteriously kept adjusting itself so I wasn't wearing it properly. Also, I somehow didn't sit correctly for most of the drive.)

3. Neatly arranged my chevron electric blanket (not plugged in) to cover my legs and backpack on the floor (also not plugged in).

4. Read precisely 74 pages of a novel.

5. Texted my little brother, who is virtually incapable of texting more-than-one-word responses. (Don't judge me for using the word whom.)

6. Been pretty silent for most of the trip. My mom warned my dad of this pre-departure: I would either be sleeping or reading the whole time. But my grandma would be there for conversation.

7. Written. I like to write novels and stuff.

8. Slept. My mom is a wise woman. The seatbelt buckler thing was jabbing into my side, so I put my hand between it and me and woke up with an extremely sore ring finger.

9. Eaten at a franchised restaurant with a leak in the window-walls.

Aaaand, that about brings us up-to-hour. Just chuggin’ along. I’ve also ingested about 250% more than my appropriate daily chocolate intake. But it was dark chocolate, so it’s okay, right?

#RealTalk

The Name's Krista, But You Can Call Me Sherlock

What many people do not know (or refuse to admit) about me is that I'm so observant, I'm practically Sherlock Holmes's alter ego. Now, I do not say this to boast. Oh, no, I assure you I do this in full humility. Indeed, it is only with great reluctance that I write and publish a post about my super-sleuthing skills on the World Wide Web for all to see. On that note, I'm also pretty much Batman. And I won't even mention my similarities to Clark Kent.

The other day, I had an eye appointment (I lost my glasses in an airport in Texas. It was heartbreaking, actually). Prior to that, I was the only one home since my brother and parents had departed for their daily activities, and when I departed, I left the back door unlocked. An amateur move, I admit.

When I returned home, I went into the bathroom. My superhuman senses kicked in. Something wasn't right. It was then that I realized what horrendous disturbance had caused such an imbalance in the universe.

The toilet seat was up.

Why was the toilet seat up? ("Why is the rum gone?")

Like any intellectually sound individual would deduce, I knew at that moment that I was sharing the house with a serial killer. But not just any serial killer. He was dressed in jet black from head to toe, complete with a knit beanie. He was big. Huge, with the intimidating muscles of a WWE heavy-weight champion and the height of a small dragon. I braced myself for the worst.

I literally searched the entire house. I even had "91" dialed on my keypad, and I was ready to hit that last 1 if need be. But there was no felon to be found. I had the house to myself, with the dog in his cage.

The dog. He wasn't freaking out like somebody had broken into the house. Was I just going crazy? Were my super-sleuthing skills failing me?

I went to turn on the living room light. Ah.... The light switch. Another clue. On the double-light-switch-panel-thingy, the switches were facing different directions. One was up.... and one was down. Somebody had DEFINITELY been in the house. I would never leave one switch in the up-position while its compatriot was in the down-position. I now had a hunch about who had really been in the house. A glance at the table where a FedEx-delivered box for my dad's job once had been confirmed my suspicions.

My father. He was the guilty culprit. I telephoned him an interrogation and drew a confession out of him. He had come home to pick up his box. Balance was restored to the universe.

Case closed.

"She's got nice skin."

Ah, our dear Harry Potter. He is going to be our role model today in strangely attractive attributes. I personally think it's fascinating to find out what people think is attractive about the opposite sex. The more unusual, the better. (Unless it's bordering on the creepy. Creepery is not condoned.) So I decided to ask around to see what some things (many kinda weird or obscure) are that girls find attractive about guys (and a couple of extra things at the end).

Pointy canines. That's right, gentlemen! An unnamed source likes it when your canines are vampire-esque. But before you go out to get your teeth sharpened, I should warn you that your teeth kind of need to be nice anyway. Personal hygiene is key. Straight, white teeth are beautiful.

White patch in hair. You know how some guys have a dark helmet of hair on their heads, but then there's that one spot on their scalps that for some reason lacks the same amount of eumelanin as the rest of their hair? One source thinks that's A-OK.

Arm veins. Is it too presumptuous to assume all or most guys have veins in their arms? Well, according to one young lady, veins that pop out from working out rarely go unnoticed and unadmired. But be warned--some girls find veiny arms super gross. So don't go pumping iron too much.

Muscular (and tan) backs and calves. I think a lot of girls would agree that toned calves are a plus. Muscular backs, however, is one that most girls probably don't think of because, let's face it, who notices that? Even so. Flabby backs, beware.

Nice-smelling-ness. Smell good. Don't go overboard on the cologne. A little bit is enough. (On a related-but-not note, my mom told my twelve-year-old brother that he needed to shower and use deodorant because, ya know, and he said, "What? It's my natural musk.")

Kilts. Probably my favorite of all the responses I got. Kilts magnify the manliness of the manliest-mannered man. A man who can rock it like a Scot is a man worth knowing.

Scars. They boast of daring battles against those who would dare challenge justice. Girls like guys who can stick up for justice. Oh, and also, I guess sometimes they're kinda tough looking in general. Even if you got them from running for the ice-cream truck and tripping over a plush animal.

Other fashiony things. Suspenders were mentioned. Clark Kent-like glasses. Three-piece suits. Rolled-up dress shirt sleeves (surely to reveal your veiny forearms). Aviators.

Marriage Material. A few more serious ones. Girls aren't always "on the prowl," but we certainly notice things that we want in our future spouses. These don't guarantee you an easy-as-pie search for a suitable mate, but they sure help you become the person girls want to marry. Be kind to your younger (and older) siblings. Work hard without being asked. Be good with kids. Treat your mother well. Bonus points if you can cook.

Other POV Bonus:
One time, a good male friend of mine was asked what kind of hairstyle he likes the most on girls. He didn't have an answer other than "it depends on the girl" for a long time. But then, forever and a half later, he said, "Oh, I know. You know how girls kind of have their hair up when they work out, and then there's kind of sweat on their hairline? I like that."

Hm.