The Evil One

Despite the addition of two new building maintenance employees and two new security guards, either through personal problems or other jobs, we have seen many absences from these crucial new members of staff, plus my favorite of favorites, Sarge, quit. Almost daily, Marina and/or I will go to the washroom in the early part of the afternoon and find it completely toilet paper free and a total mess. Is that mud on the sink again or something else similarly colored? I don't want to know. Last week Marina found blood all up behind the toilet and on the back of the toilet seat. After a lengthy discussion about how this couldn't have happened, we decided that we hoped someone injured herself in the washroom and neglected to clean up, rather than figure out how menstrual blood got up in back of the toilet. Then I found blood in a more reasonable location: the front of the toilet seat and all over the floor in front of the toilet. Sad that these findings are so common that we are merely grateful we don't have a blood mystery to solve. Also plaguing us are the garbage bags that never ever get changed. Food and junk are dumped from the bags, but the torn, stained, stinky bags are still in the bin when we return each day, for weeks and weeks and weeks, and we have come to identify them by the remnants that will no longer fall into the large bin when they're dumped. My garbage can has some sticky goo and pencil shavings permanently adhered to the bag, while another has what looks like a dime-sized purple booger on the rim. That has to be a health issue, but we haven't made a big deal about it yet. Add to that how overburdened Arms is with his full-time job, his new girlfriend, moving to Chicago, and having to work all the security hours himself (without Sarge or a replacement) and we I deemed our library a dirty, insecure mess.

On Monday, our director hired a new maintenance guy to cover the shift where Marina and I frequently end up finding bathroom disasters, and I nearly fell to my knees and kissed the new guy's feet. No one will appreciate him more than Marina and me, that's for sure.

A few minutes after the introduction, I felt the need to pee, so off I went to the washroom. The upstairs washroom was full of giggling teens, both in stalls and outside waiting, so I scurried to the downstairs washroom where I thought it would be safe and available. What did I find? No toilet paper. It wasn't even on my FLOOR and here I was having to replace toilet paper downstairs too. As I was bringing armfuls of rolls of toilet paper to the washroom, I walked past the director and the new maintenance guy, and I eyed the boss-man with a squint, then indicated my arms full of toilet paper with my eyes, as if to silently let him know that I'm not happy about my role as toilet paper girl.

He said to the new guy, "This is Nikki, who you already met. She's The Evil One. Watch out for her."

The temptation to begin hurtling the toilet paper at my boss was intense. I vividly imagined hitting him with a roll of TP and watching it bounce off his head, sending both his head and the TP vibrating in different directions.

And no, that does not support his assertion that I'm The Evil One. That was simply the appropriate response.

AND I take slight offense to this misnomer, for I am certainly not the guiltiest, evilest one around. There is a sign on his door that reads, "Shhhh, director at work," and Marina, using red marker, wrote below that, "Sure..." When I asked how she gets away with that without a title exposing her devious nature while I get dubbed The Evil One, she simply said, "No one ever suspects the butterfly..."

Sigh.

Tuesday, our new maintenance guy quietly entered our office and emptied the trash, which I thought little of, exchanged a friendly greeting with him, and went about my work. When he left I realized he'd changed our garbage bags for the first time in months. I let out a scream of joy! Instantly, I IM'd Marina to share the good news and she was almost as ecstatic as I was. The new conundrum is, how will we know whose garbage we're using? If not for the big purple glob of unidentifiable food that's been sitting atop the rim of the garbage bag to my right since February, how will I know that can belongs by my boss's desk? And if not for the sticky goo at the bottom, covered in pencil shavings, how will I know that is the garbage bin Marina and I share? Will we even know it's our own office anymore without the stale smell of rotten banana peels due to two banana-eaters sitting in close proximity, constantly heaving peels into bags that collect banana gunk for years? Suddenly, there's a whole new scent of pride around here!

As I was leaving the building last night, I approached Arms and the director standing together, and Arms immediately said, "Uh-oh, here comes trouble."

Now, between the two of them dubbing me The Evil One and Trouble, I'm starting to wonder about my reputation around here. But not much. If I let myself care, then I'd have to consider changing, and that's out of the question. Besides which, perhaps my reputation overshadows Marina and allows the butterfly to get away with more. It's a partnership in accomplishing more trickery, and I'm all for that.

Slightly caught off guard by the meandering thoughts Arms caused by calling me Trouble, I found my way back to the matter at hand and announced to Arms and the director that I think I am in love with Jose, who gave us new garbage bags. They laughed. They have no idea how serious I am. Any man who will clean up after me to my satisfaction is a man I could love. And I think he has green eyes to go with the dark, Hispanic features -- swoon!

No wonder the other guys make me put in the toilet paper and don't change the garbage bags. They want no part of my infatuation. I mean, really, who wants The Evil One to be smitten with them?