When someone speaks of the word janitor, a basic stereotype surfaces. We can envision an old man or woman grumpily moping the floors after the stampede of football players trudged inside the pristine white floors and placed their disgusting, muddy marks to forever grace the school’s floors.
But honestly . . . Why did it have to be me? I thought in pent-up anger. Smoke practically fumed from my ears when I remembered the scene from a few minutes ago.
“Miss Collete Everdeen!”, The judge slammed her wooden gavel onto the poor block, “You are sentenced to being the official cleaner for Meadows Institute for a month! If you delay or miss out on even a single day, your time will be doubled!”, she bellowed.
My blonde hair almost flew off my scalp from the amount of force she put into that order. I glared at her with my beautiful, dew-green pupils. She didn’t appreciate the blessing I bestowed on her and added another week to my sentence.
Ugh! Stupid law! I kicked up my foot to angrily grab my platform heel off. It wasn’t my fault I punched her daughter! Besides- it was barely a punch! It was just a . . . a nudge with a fisted hand! Children these days are so dramatic.
I huffed, running a hand through my hair to push it from my face, If that girl didn’t try to steal my Platinum Rare Haute-Rejuvenating Cream then there’d be no reason I’d strike! Honestly, who would be brazen enough to steal from a lady’s purse? Anyone who does so deserves to have their head cut off! So what if that brat’s mother is a judge? It was only a broken nose anyways!
I angrily strutted back to my penthouse apartment back in the city from the court. I had nothing but my stockings on my feet so I ended up stepping on countless rocks and a random orbeez pearl. Unfortunately for me, the court where I left was only two blocks away, which meant I’d have to see that brat and her brat spawn often. It was still worth wearing that gorgeous pair of studded diamond platforms to the courtroom. Everyone was more focused on my babies than my sentence.
“Well, I guess it is what it is. Working as a janitor can be an honourable and noble job if you think about it!”, I tried to convince myself, “I have to battle a whole school of sweaty adolescents who’ve yet to understand the magic of deodorant. Oh, and I’ll finally have access to their secret teacher staff room. I never got the chance to enter inside there during my high school years”.
After massaging more priceless serum into my face and twirling my hair around a heatless hair-curling headband, I finally tucked myself into bed, “Look on the bright side, Colette! You can finally tick off one of the things on your bucket list: Become a badass criminal. Being a janitor should suffice”, I smiled, satisfied.
The next morning seemed peaceful. A little too peaceful . . .
A few hours later, I glanced at the digital clock.
“Hmm”, I pondered to myself, “The clock here says it’s 10:00 am. That can’t be right”.
So then I went back to bed. A few minutes later, I jumped up again-
“I’M LATE FOR SCHOOL!”.
But then I calmed down, “No, I’m 25. I’ve already done that”.
I continued my lovely, nightly rest. Sadly, I awoke once more with a life-threatening jump.
“I’M A JANITOR!”.
I hurriedly jumped out of bed, undid my hair, slipped on my adorable checkered miniskirt outfit, did my makeup while listening to a ‘baddie’ playlist and left the house at 11:30 am.
“Huh”, I stared, eyes wide at my Rolex watch, “This is the earliest I’ve ever been”, I smiled, more content now than ever.
I hopped into my pink Ferrari and illegally speed through the city streets. In less than two minutes, I reached the school. Con’s of living in the city: Everything’s too close.
My car tires screeched against the gravel as I parked perfectly beside the curb right in front of Meadows Institute of the Bright & Talented. At least that’s what the name said. The brat spawn yesterday, however, proved otherwise. Petty private school.
I strutted towards the tacky front doors, lifting the sunglasses from my face and shaking the wind out of my hair. With one hand, I slammed open the door, “I’m here!”, I beamed.
However, there was no one there to greet me.
“What?”, I muttered, lowering my cup of matcha green tea, “You call this a private school but I don’t even have an escort?”.
I saw an old lady, with her back hunched and a stiff frown on her face.
“You there”, I pointed, “Would you care to take me to the one who’s in charge here? Apparently, us janitors have a boss”, I kindly winked.
The old woman did not catch wind of my kindness.
“I am your boss, young lady. How dare you point your finger at me!”, she accused.
I looked her up and down. She wore an unflattering gingham green shirt with puffed sleeves and straight, black pants with basic black flats, “Ah . . . I see. Sorry, ma’am”.
The woman sneered, “Do you know what time it is?”, Her voice screeched, “You’re 3 hours late! If I could, I would’ve fired you into oblivion, but sadly, the law decided to send you here. Stupid law”, she cursed.
I nodded, “I agree”.
“Don’t just stand there!”, her screams rang through my ears, “Get the mop! And change out of that weird outfit too! You look like a low-cost barbie”.
“Pshh”, I rolled my eyes, “One woman’s opinion”, I muttered.
“The mop!”, she shrieked.
“Yes ma’am!”, I saluted and went off.
I raced to the janitor's closet where her bony finger pointed and pulled out a mop. That old lady made me scrub the disgusting toilet seats, pull out disgusting items from the toilet (“Is . . . is that a set of false teeth?!”) and mop every inch of the hallway. I waws so close to crying through my torture but I knew I had to stay strong! I won’t give that brat spawn the satisfaction!
Then, the bell rang.
This time, even my superior’s face darkened with fear, “Oh no . . . “, she muttered.
A herd of reckless cows barged out of the classroom doors and made their way to the cafeteria. Their disgusting shoes are ruining the fruit of my hard work!
I was ordered about by a bunch of petty children. Some teenagers dropped their lunch on the floor by ‘accident’, some painted explicit drawings on the cafeteria tables and others flushed sausages down the toilets.
By the middle of lunch, I realised what that judge meant by punishment.
I almost cried out in anger.
As I scrubbed the meat sludge off the bathroom stalls, the toilet doors slammed open again and a group of four girls came in, grabbing a girl by the hair and throwing her to the floor.
“What are you looking at?”, one of them spat, “Just focus on your work, janitor”.
Images of my own high school life resurfaced. My face darkened with deep hatred.
Oh hell no. I can handle scrubbing your grease off toilets but I sure as hell won’t allow this.
This won’t do.
“Oi”, I snapped, “What do you think you’re doing?”, I glared.
by Dominique, Year 9 on Publishers Studio