Clean up on aisle nine

 

I was at the front desk of my library when a large man, walking by in the distance with a robust container of orange soda, suddenly became self conscious. "Is it okay for me to have this soda in the library?" He asked.

I was very tempted to respond "Only if you don't spill it." But I held my tongue because I didn't think my cheek would get much play with him. I said he was allowed because, yes, he is allowed to have a covered drink in the library. But I'll admit something about his asking gave me misgivings.

Or presentiments?

Two minutes later the man was back.

"I spilled my drink in the bathroom. Can I have some towels or a mop?"

I gave him some towels.

"These aren't going to be enough." He said. "I spilled the whole thing."

Boy, I bet he was thirsty now!

I investigated the bathroom. The spill was partly under the stall and partly out from under the stall. It looked like a nuclear meltdown of some kind.

"I'll take care of it." I said. I did not believe there was any equipment or situation in which he would be able to take care of it himself. He had failed to inspire me.

He left contritely, but not quite contritely enough for my tastes. I think I needed him weeping with regret. But that's just me.

I went to the janitorial closet and got a mop and rolling bucket. There were two mops and buckets! I put soap and water in it. It all smelled... funny. And the squeegee part of the bucket didn't fit in the bucket very well.

I began mopping, and the third time I squeegeed out the liquid from the rancid mop the whole bucket toppled over.

I would not have described the process as "going great" so far.

I took the bucket back to the janitorial closet and got the other mop and bucket. Now I knew why there were two mops and buckets! One of them was just there to trick people!

Then I mopped, though it seems more accurate to say I sopped up orange soda mixed with vast amounts of soapy water and some ice. Then I wrung it out in the stable bucket contraption. I did this 30 times. There was a drain on the floor I could sort of sweep the liquid to, but it didn't work as well a the wringer contraption.

The floor was very wet and slippery when I'd finally had as much as I could take. I went looking for the "wet floor" sign. All the kings horses and all the king's men couldn't come up with the "wet floor" sign, though we all were sure we had one. Much later I found out from the night cleaner that it was tucked behind the trash can in the break room. But at the actual time of the wet floor I simply left the "Bathroom Closed for Maintenance" sign on the bathroom door until the floor air dried, for about half an hour. There's another bathroom upstairs, and a handful of specialty bathrooms here and there as well.

After I took the "Bathroom Closed for Maintenance" sign down, I told my story to a few co-workers, but it wasn't a really great "oral tradition" kind of a story.

It was more of a blog post.