“That vending machine is more trouble than it’s worth,” Jim the principal blurted out. He stood there shaking his head, hands on his hips. “This is the second smash and grab in two weeks.”
We both milled around in the 400-building foyer assessing the damage. Millions of tiny beads of glass were scattered far and wide, and a heavy oak chair on wheels sat close by, obviously used to crush the glass in.
The vending machine guy filled it with a load of everyone’s favorite chips and candy bars earlier in the morning. The most coveted sugary confections sell out within a day, leaving behind the less favorable items we all settle for as a last resort. But even those were gone. The only thing left was the tepid bottled water on the bottom row.
A camera went up the next day, pointing straight at the machine. A sticker on the new glass front stated, “Smile, you’re being recorded.”
But more importantly, our favorite treats were gone. Up till then, I’d been purchasing a long, two-dollar chocolate bar with peanuts and caramel to go with my break-time coffee. Now however, those good times are over…finished. No more salty, greasy bar-b-que chips, or soft chocolate bars with almonds and especially no more pepperoni sticks…no more.
It’s all been replaced with “healthy” items. Dried, packaged fruit strips, some-sort of granola/molasses BS, whole wheat chips and other things every staff member and student hates. Eventually, these disappointments sold out too, but it took four times as long. I assumed the healthy snacks order came down from the central office, or from decision makers at the state level, or someplace similar.
But whoever’s idea this was, it ruined my break time. From that day forward, I had to get my chocolate bar fix at the same place I get my beer…the corner grocery.
“Raymond, from now on, I want you to keep an eye on our vending machine,” Jim said.
“Okay, Boss, whatever you say.”
But I couldn’t hang around the 400 building all night. I’d look in once in a while, but that’s it…I had my janitorial shift, countless afterschool activities to cater to and three subordinate custodians who were, shall we say, unpredictable. I had a full plate. Besides, with the machine full of granola bars and with a new surveillance camera, the thieves never touched it again. (Even robbers have standards).
I think the vending company gave up, because our machine sat half empty, with the most intolerable of products languishing for days or weeks, only to be chosen as a last resort, until all that remained was the forlorn bottled waters in the bottom row.
* * *
A few months into our new normal, we had an unrelated high-level meeting in the school’s library.
The school board, administrators from the central office, parents, staff and others were in attendance. What they were discussing is anybody’s guess, but the gathering was large and became somewhat heated. With the library door propped open, I could hear parents and others engaged in lively debate with district officials, even from the 400-building where I was working. My area was closely adjacent to the library and the meeting.
About halfway through the night, a middle-aged man in a suit came out of the meeting and over to the 400-building foyer near where I happened to be pushing my janitor cart and minding my own business. He approached our forgotten treat dispenser and looked it over. His brow furrowed.
“All you have is water here. Is that all you have… don’t you have anything else,” he said in a curt, accusatory tone.
He looked familiar, like someone from the district’s administrative hierarchy at the central office, but I couldn’t be sure. All I know is I too was suddenly in a bad mood.
“Let me check, sir,” I said, as I marched over to him and the machine. “Let’s see, let’s see,” I said tapping my lip with my finger. “Yep, looks like all we got is water…there’s also a drinking fountain over there,” I said pointing down the hall. I think he sensed my sarcasm, because he became instantly enraged.
“Don’t you keep this thing stocked,” he said. “What’s the matter with you people?”
“Sir, first off, an outside company owns this machine, and second, I’m not the vending machine police.”
“Are you getting smart with me?” (Long silent pause). “Do you know who I am?” he said while shuffling closer. Another long pause, and his little ball-bearing eyes stared into mine.
“I don’t care who you are,” I retorted.
“Oh yeah, well I’m the Assistant Liaison to the Dean of Principals, my friend… I’ll have you written up for insubordination, and I’m gonna make damn sure you get a letter in your file,” he said pointing his finger at my chest. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Ray, the janitor, everyone knows me here.” “Ray what…RAY WHAT?” “Raymond Black,” I said quietly, while pointing at the photo ID pinned to my shirt. “Well, Raymond Black, you’re getting a letter in your file.” He pulled out a pen and pad and jotted my name down.
* * *
I’m pretty sure parents and the community were giving him hell at the meeting, which involved recent budgetary deficits. In fact, I learned later he and other district officials were verbally chastised, and turned into coleslaw, with the local media documenting the whole embarrassing episode. No wonder he was mad.
The following day, Jim the Principal called me into his office, and handed me an official-looking manila envelope from the district’s main office. “Ray, I got an email regarding your behavior last night with someone from the central office. He said you were insubordinate and causing trouble. He’s made a big stink about it and is coming down hard on us. I’m sorry to tell you Raymond, they’ve set up a disciplinary meeting for early next week. You and I need to be there, bring your union rep too if you need that. What the heck did you say to this guy?”
I told Jim everything that transpired, as I saw it, and admitted I’d gotten a little snotty. “Now, I have this administrator from the central office, who by the way has a giant stick up his ass, breathing down my neck.”
“Well, Ray, we’ll go to the meeting and see if we can mitigate the damage, but you might get a letter in your file…”
The dreaded ‘letter in your file’ -- this is something that happens to other people, not me. Sure, I’d heard the stories of fellow janitors, losers who’d fucked up and received this letter, however I never imagined it really happening.
“I’ve got three letters in my file,” Big Tom, the day custodian told me later. But this didn’t make me feel much better, Big Tom had a reputation.
The next morning, bright and early, I texted our union representative, and asked if he could represent me at the meeting held at the central office, scheduled for a few days later.
Monday morning, the day of the meeting, I sat in my truck for a minute after arriving at the central office complex. I’d been dreading this all weekend.
I took a deep breath, got out of my vehicle and entered the front door of the main office foyer. Just walking in was intimidating. The building was quiet and professional, with dark, paneled walls complementing interesting artwork. Large, exotic potted plants sat here and there, and massive exterior windows reached up two stories, offering a feeling of expanse. Attractive people walked about in suits, smiling and giving confident nods as they passed. Even the air smelled good. This was a land of opposites, a distant, unexplored realm far removed from the boorish hellscape of which I came.
“Now Raymond, when we get in there, don’t say too much…if they ask a question, just be cool and tell the truth,” Phil, my union rep instructed. “Let me do most of the talking.” A few seconds later, we entered a meeting room with its long, oak table, surrounded by eight chairs. Attending the meeting on my side was my principal, Jim, my union rep Phil and me. On the opposing side was the Assistant Liaison to the Dean of Principals, Roger something, (the fellow who confronted me in the hall), and the admin in charge of human resources, Doctor Shirley something or other, who oversaw the meeting.
I won’t bore you with all the minutes of the conference, just a quick summary:
We had a short, polite meet and greet, and our opening statements began. Phil, my union rep argued, “Raymond wasn’t informed of the person’s district status as an administrator during the confrontation.”
Roger countered with, “No matter who came in the building, they deserve the same respect, and Raymond’s behavior was very unbecoming of a district employee.”
This was a solid argument and honestly, I didn’t completely disagree. However, Roger’s initial confrontation and attitude in the hall is what started everything.
Roger argued, “The meeting in the library with the community was upsetting and dropped my blood sugar to the point I needed to step away momentarily. It was at that point I entered the 400 building and after a short exchange, Raymond stated, ‘I’m not the vending machine police!’”
This rebuttal was convincing, and the human resources director sympathized to an extent with Roger.
“When you’re at work, you are a district representative, and we expect you to act as such, Raymond. You will exhibit a higher level of professionalism when you’re working in the schools, do I make myself clear?”
My principal looked at me with surprise, and my union rep shook his head.
“And you, Roger, you need to stop with the constant petty bickering and complaining,” Shirley said, pointing at him. “I should give you both a letter in your file…but I’m not going to. And be nice to people from now on. Got it?” she said, firmly.
“Yes, we got it,” we both said, almost in unison.
* * *
I went to work that afternoon, glum, and still sore from the solid ass-chewing. Two positive notes, I didn’t get the letter in my file, and I now make a concerted effort to be more polite with strangers.
* * *
The following school year brought massive cuts district wide, as the result of a failed school levy, in addition to existing budgetary shortfalls. Every one of the school district’s departments were hit. It was the worst year for the schools in decades.
Interestingly, I heard through the district rumor mill that because of this, Roger was demoted from Assistant Liaison to the Dean of Principals, to middle school P.E. teacher, where he initially came from. And because our facilities department was hit even harder, I was demoted from night lead custodian to sweeper, 3rd shift. Even with all my service years, it still didn’t matter. I now start my shift at ten p.m. at night, and leave for home at 6:30 a.m. in the morning, when the normal people are just getting up and starting their day. I rather enjoy the solitude of the high school during the red eye shift. I can get my work done without interruptions every five minutes. And once a week on the commute home, I stop for breakfast at the all-night diner a couple miles from my trailer. It took a while getting used to the time change, but as of late, I consider it a blessing, a hidden gem in my work life…