Slippery

This micro fiction piece was written as a story companion to the day 12 drawing prompt Slippery from the 2020 Inktober prompt list. Click here to see the drawing.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only person who chose their career path based on how little interaction with others would be required.

I remember the career days in elementary school when parents and prominent people in the community would come and talk to us about what they did. At the end of the day, there was always an activity or discussion about, What job do you see yourself doing one day? Everyone around me would pick policeman, teacher, doctor … standard stuff.

All I could think was, aren’t there any jobs where I get to be alone?

Then one day, my family and I were at the mall and I saw a guy in blue coveralls walking around the food court, sweeping up napkins and dropped pizza crusts. No one looked at him, he moved as if completely unseen through the crowd with the biggest smile on his face I’d ever seen.

I pointed him out to my mother and asked who he was. She wrinkled her nose and said, You mean the janitor?

I repeated the word to myself in a whisper … janitor. It sounded like something from Masters of the Universe. The Mighty Jani-tor. A lone wolf of cleanliness, keeping everything nice and never asking for a thank you, cause that’s just how heroes are. I was sold.

From that moment on, I was sold, asking for toy mops and brooms for my birthday, picking up after my brothers and keeping my room spotless. My parents probably would have discouraged me if the house hadn’t been so clean. I always figured they secretly thought it would be nicer to have a policeman or a doctor in the family, but all I know is no one talks to me all day and that makes me happy.

Even as a kid, small talk frustrated me to the point of tears. We’d get on the playground and everyone would start talking about what they brought for lunch, what they watched on TV last night, and they’d stare at me and wait for me to come up with something. When nothing came to mind, I would stare back at them in silence, then one of them would call me a freak and walk off.

Whatever, as long as they weren’t trying to make me listen to them talk about nothing, or, worse, trying to make me talk.

Now I’m the janitor at the mall, in charge of floors, and every single one is spotless, thank you very much. You could eat off every one of the 100,000 square feet of this place. My favorite part of the day is mopping. I put up the yellow watch out for slippery floor signs and retreat into my own space, polishing the tile until it shines, unbothered, untouched, and silent.

When the head of maintenance does talk to me, he keeps hinting at a promotion, but I just shrug. Why would I want to do anything else?

All I need is my mop, my floors, and the pleasant silence they lend me.