“You’re lying.” She finally says, walking to her desk. I follow behind her as she continues. “You’re going to have to be a bit more convincing if you’re going to request a weekend pass. There’s only one reason you would stay here late–well, there are heaps, but only one makes sense given what you said yesterday–is it a date with your bin-man?”
“What? No! It’s not a date!” My voice cracks like a hot glass being run under cold water. “I just need to spend some time with the floors…and the bins…alone.”
I groan. Why did I say that last bit?
She twists on the spot and gives me a look that is part psychic medium, part office gossip gremlin. “Alright, Oscar. I won’t press. But if you die mysteriously after hours or I find yourbody stuffed in a bin… I’ll find your ghost and tell youI told you so.”
“Noted,” I mumble back. I can feel the warmth on my face; my cheeks are so flushed.
“Far out. I hope I don’t come into work on Monday and you’ve got a water bottle stuck on your dick. Look, here, take this.” She reaches for a sheet of paper on her desk, scribbles something on it, then hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask, turning it around and looking at the form.
“It’s an extra cleaning request signed off by me. Henry will not even think about it if I ask him for it. Especially if I suddenly have turmeric latte stains all over my cubicle’s carpet, which could take days to clean if it sets in…”
Without missing a beat, she takes the lid off her coffee and pours it. I panic for a second, looking around, but nobody notices her do it. The yellow liquid quickly seeps into her cream-coloured cubicle carpet, and for the first time ever, I’m genuinely happy to see a mess. She’s smiling at me. I appreciate Claudia’s friendship and her wing woman behaviours. She wants the best for me and ensured that it happened.
She pats me on the shoulder and leans forward to whisper. “Tell me all the sordid details on Monday.” she winks.
I thank her and scuttle off to continue my rounds, heart hammering. I immediately walk to Henry’s office, the HR officer, and knock on his door.
Henry’s a middle-aged man who told me he once dreamed of being a detective but settled for Human Resources because here, he is a bigger fish in this pond. He has a permanent scowl etched on his face, not from anger but from administrative fatigue.
His salt-and-pepper beard is trimmed to his own self-imposed regulated stuffy corporate guy length of which I havenever seen it grow any longer; his glasses are perched on his forehead, and an open page of the newspaper on his desk has a sudoku puzzle waiting for him to finish it. His office smells faintly of instant coffee and overly citrusy hand sanitizer.
I always say to Claudia that despite his overly stiff professionalism and a demeanour like a metal scouring pad that you just know he once owned a mug that had the words‘It’s not an argument. I’m just telling you why I am right’.
A singular gruff, followed by “Enter!” signals me in.
I turn the handle and walk in.
“Oh, Oscar, just the man I wanted to see. We are having a delivery tomorrow, and no one is available to come in. You wouldn’t be free at all?”
All that work, just so I’d be handed an excuse to come in. Far out. The universe works in mysterious ways. “Uh, actually, yeah, I am free!” I started trying to play it cool. “I was already planning on coming in over the weekend, so this works out great. Claudia requested an extra cleaning job that would take a couple of days to do.” I hand him the form, and he snatches it without looking at me. As he reads, his glasses drop to the bridge of his nose.
“Well, this all looks in order. You OK with handling a delivery?” His tone felt condescending.
“Yes, just tell me where it needs to go.” I reply with a bit of snark he doesn’t pick up on.Why are straight men always so oblivious to good sarcastic humour?
“Thanks for this. So, the delivery is set for nine, but they sometimes get here early. Give me a buzz when it's all done, won’t you? Then you can get to that coffee stain for Claudia.”
“Sure will.” I say, and I leave his office and shut the door. I could have danced towards my janitor’s closet from how excited I am that my plans are working out.
Chapter 7–So Binto You
By the time the afternoon rolls around, I am running on fumes, anxiety and the haunting echoes of The Grouch’s voice whispering “curse-breaking weekend” to me like it is foreplay.
I have one more task left before I can clock off: a blitz stock-up of all the amenities around the office just in case we make a mess. There is something about getting a job done and done well that feels sacred. It’s a benediction of bleach and overused mops.
Everyone has already left for the evening, and I am doing my last sweep around with the quiet reverence of a man preparing to do something stupid.
It’s not a date. I keep reiterating this to myself. I can’t fall for this spirit. He is going to help me break my curse, and then we are going to go our separate ways. A casual meetup with a bin spirit.Totally normal.
My cart squeaks mournfully as I pull it along behind me. The wheels are acting like they are against the whole idea and warning me not to go through with it. But it is too late.I’ve signed the paperwork and gotten the go-ahead from HR, Claudia knows, and even implicated herself in my plans with the turmeric stains on her carpet. I can’t forget to actually clean it.
The wink she gave me too, like she is a proud high schooler winking to her friend who was about to lose their v-card at prom. She isn’t exactly wrong. My v-card is long gone, but I have a feeling someone’s going to get railed.
I had almost finished all my tasks. Scrapping the weird red stain off someone's desk, that suspiciously looked like blood but had the texture of protein smoothie, emptied all the bins, and even getting the weird grey goo off the carpet near Finance. I am in every professional sense at the pinnacle of janitorial excellence.
