Custodians deserve more respect
By Cindy Reitzi
Some people do the “expected” work of a society for others;
we notice what’s “expected” by its invisibility, not
by its visibility. The grocery shopper magically refills the frig; the
process goes unnoticed until the kids are out of chocolate milk. So
it is with the work of school custodians. When paper products or soap
are fully stocked in the bathroom,we don’t notice. When students
leave the floors strewn like they just staged a parade and the janitor
didn’t get to our room that night … well,we do notice. Generally
speaking, with custodial and other service jobs, competence is indicated
by its very invisibility: if we don’t notice, the job is getting
done; if we do notice, something is missing or undone.
Perhaps this very invisibility is why custodians often receive little
recognition from adults and even less from students. Face it, it’s
just not human nature to exclaim,“Wow, I’m so grateful for
all these paper towels – we have great janitors” or “Oh,
look! They dusted!”
Most schools are not falling over themselves to organize Custodian
Appreciation Day, yet good principals know they’d be lost without
an efficient custodial staff. Teachers, if they’re smart, also
know to nurture good relationships if they want to locate hitherto hidden
classroom furniture that only the janitor can find or want something
moved.
And yet, sometimes, janitors are not even treated with minimal courtesy.
One custodian thanked me for saying,“good morning” to him
or simply chatting with him in amiable conversation. Apparently, some
of the staff thought it beneath them to acknowledge or greet him in
a civil manner. He wasn’t asking to be friends with them. Likewise,
high school students with delusions of their alleged class superiority
to “the help” have a habit of littering their school with
soggy garbage when the trash can is within spitting distance (and yes,
they do that too) and they’re just too bored to deposit their
waste in the proper receptacle, let alone leave less unnecessary work
for the custodians. “That’s the janitor’s job”
is the standard response when I call them on it.
The mess isn’t limited to the school grounds perimeter. Observe
yards in the neighborhood, littered with McDonald’s wrappers,
cigarette butts, and other evidence of teenagers “marking their
territory” and you mouth the question,“Hmm, live near a
high school?”
Since I used to clean up after other people as a maid and as a waitress
and since I spent years cleaning up tables after young adults who sculpted
little Zen gardens from the easy-pouring sugar containers in the booths,
I’m sensitive to clean up or contain my own mess when someone
is cleaning up after me.
I used to chat with one witty custodian, Gary, who not only dispensed
wisdom about physical-plant issues, but also about the political state
of the school.
“Kids leave you a mess today?” I’d open.“No
more than usual,” he’d reply philosophically.
Ask any custodian and they’ll probably have a story like Gary’s.
There was this “one kid” – maybe there’s always
this “one kid” – who really pushed Gary’s buttons.
As if to drive home his version of the American caste system, the boy
always threw paper, ketchup packets, and anything particularly messy
on the floor, right in front of Gary and especially if he was close
to the trash can. Just to make his point.
“Pick it up,” snapped Gary.
“That’s your job,” sneered the kid. This was
an almost daily event recalled Gary. But then … a golden opportunity
at the Golden Arches. One day, Gary walked into McDonald’s and
saw the same student, not only in a McDonald’s uniform, but sweeping
the floor in the dining room, like some sort of parallel karmic irony.
Gary bought his meal and decided it was worth sacrificing lunch. In
a move worthy of his evil twin, he dumped his shake on the floor, smeared
ketchup on the table, and ground his burger into the linoleum. Right
in front of “the kid.”
“Clean it up!” bristled the indignant boy.
“That’s your job,” echoed Gary, chuckling.The
kid stormed off to get the manager to confront Gary. Gary blithely relayed
to the manager that he was a custodian and his McDonald’s employee
made an equivalent mess at Gary’s workplace almost every day.
The manager turned to the little weasel and said,“Clean up this
mess. Then, get this gentleman another meal.” Payback.
The student never dumped garbage at Gary again. In fact, in that weird,
alpha-dog-hierarchical-male universe, which I will never understand,
they became good friends.
Today's Classroom page
March 26, 2007