Mop Thievery.

As a short preface... the other day when I was cleaning, I found a long lost piece of paper with a few email addresses on it... so if you've never gotten emails from me before... that's probably why. Sorry! I suppose that while I'm on that note, I could bring up another issue... I know a lot of you forward my emails along to people, and I'm okay with that... but if this and been forwarded to you and you'd like to just be on the original email list, please just email me and say, "Ooh, ooh! Pick me, pick me!" or something similar.

On to story time. I've got two, one is more informational because you are all so nosy and curious about my dating life... The second is a more adventurous sort.

Wednesdays, although enjoyable, are my longest, most ridiculous days ever. A brief outline of a typical Wednesday:
4am-7:30am: work; 9am: Calculus, 11am: Physics, Noon: Chorale, 1pm: Biology, 3pm: Book of Mormon, 7pm-9pm: Orchestra. In between work and scheduled classes, I am cramming in homework and food. Basically... running all over the place like a headless chicken.

Well, yesterday... was Wednesday. Nothing really exciting happened besides mad, mad dashing all over the place, although since both Ryan and I got to Book of Mormon early, we talked for a little. It is at this point where I realize how incredibly tired I was, since I had a hard time getting to sleep the night before and exhausted suddenly steps on me from out of nowhere, wiping me out. "Are you okay?" I hate that... I have no way of veiling how I am feeling. If I am tired or sick, everyone sees it as clearly as they see their own hand. Well, yes, of course I'm okay. I'm just tired. This is true, and of course Ryan believes it. No one ever dares to disbelieve me when I say that since they can't comprehend not being tired after waking up as early as I do. But of course, all it takes is mention of the proximity of the weekend to liven me up a little... And especially since this weekend is a three-day weekend, it is the topic of nearly half the conversations happening lately.

"Do you have plans for the weekend?" Um... I have to think about that. I trudge through my molasses mind and discover... oh, yes I do! I think at this point Ryan remembers I am also in choir, and since there is a mandatory retreat scheduled for Saturday, he says, "The choir retreat?" "Yeah, that too. After that I'm going to my aunt's house and I'm staying there until Monday evening..." And then at this point my happiness slightly dissipates... I sadly add, "Which probably means that I should do all my homework Friday night..." Ryan answers with a depressed-sounding "Oh. Yeah, probably." And then the day went on.

I finally get home at 9, and start getting ready for bed. I have discovered that I only have to wake up five minutes before I need to leave if I have a night shower, lay out all my clothes, pack my makeup and such into my backpack, and get all my books and school supplies packed the night before. That way, I wake up around 3:40, change from my nightie into my clothes, grab my stuff, and get out the door. Well, in my opinion, getting ready for bed also involves one last email-check... after all, a lot of my professors send out messages late at night assuming that every student will be awake until at least midnight. Well, inside Gmail is a chat interface that connects into AIM, and as has become almost routine, Ryan and I instant message each other for awhile.

The conversation was pretty average for awhile. Then Ryan says something oddly like an answering machine message. It looks suspiciously like my voicemail message... but then, mine is quite average. Tired and a bit confused (not to mention slow-minded), I leave my computer and go take a shower. I come out... and another message. Except this time it is my voicemail message verbatim.

I shouldn't have been so darned confused, really. I was just tired. I express my confusion. He complains of his mutual confusion. Which confuses me more.

Since I use my phone as an alarm clock, I pull it out to set the alarm and de-silencify it (it was set to silent since I had been in class), and... ohhhhhhhhhhhhh. "Missed Call, Ryan Strong... Missed Call, Ryan Strong... Missed..."

This would explain a few things. If I wasn't so ridiculously exhausted, I would have definitely burst into hysterical laughter. But I'm tired. I just tell Ryan I'm not confused anymore... and that my phone had been set on silent. I am so ready for bed, and I feel like I should have collapsed sometime in the last hour... but even at the slow pace my mind was running at, I have a slight suspicion I'm about to get a phone call, even though technically I'm already having a conversation with him via the Internet. I fiddle with my phone. Silent... vibrate... full volume... half volume... three-quarters volume... seven-twelths volume... silent... open... close... vibrate... open... silent... And, well, it didn't ring, because I had fiddled it to silent, and it didn't blink, because I had fiddled it open... it was just the phone-version of an obnoxious pop-up window informing me I had a call. And, well... I took me a bit to figure out how to answer it when it was already flipped open.

I eventually found success and answered. My voice surprised me... it was dry and... well, I sounded like a receptionist from the underworld unamusedly greeting newly-dead people entering Hades, and directing them to the gates depressedly. I'm sure it was very unnerving for the receiving end, especially since my greeting wasn't even "Hello!" or "Bueno!" or "Hey!" or "Hi!" or "What's up?". No, what tumbled out of my barely functioning mouth was a terse, "What." Hidden behind the simple "What?" were the accusatory and hostile undertones which clearly asked, "Why are you calling me?" and "What do you want with me so late at night, at almost 10pm?". I even suspect that if he could see me, I would have been glaring menacingly at him.

"Uh... hi. ... ... How are you?"

I save myself in what is again the truest and most believable way... "Tired." I made a small effort to sound less hostile, and that happened... but I still sounded dry, dead, and humorless.

"Um... do you wanna go see something in the HFAC [that's the fine arts building where all the concerts and plays happen] tomorrow night with me?"

Oh. Darn, I'm slow today, I should have realized this was what was going on like... eight hours ago. It is common etiquette to avoid asking people on dates through an instant message, email, Facebook wall post, etc. The basic rule is... in person or phone call = ok. Anything less that than is too impersonal. Plus, he had been a little too inquisitive about my plans this weekend, which probably meant he was going to ask me to something Friday or Saturday night.

Tomorrow... when is tomorrow? Tomorrow... Thursday? Thursday. I think I can do Thursday. So... "Er... yeah... when?" "Um... starts at 7:30. So... I'll come get you at 7?" "Okay, yeah." ... "You looked really tired today." "Yeah." ... "Is there anything I can do for you?" Oh booger. I must sound like I was just invited to the funeral of my best friend or something. No one ever asks that with those exact words unless they're home/visiting teaching, or think you're about to have a nervous breakdown. Which I might if I didn't sleep soon. "No... no, I'm fine..." "Okay... see you tomorrow then..."

Oh. I can go to bed now. Yay. I groggily climb into bed... realize my computer is still on... hm. Having two conversations at once with the same person is kind of interesting. I say good night to Ryan (again) and sign off and finally get to sleep. I am out instantly.

I suppose we'll call that the first story, but here comes the fun one. It's definitely more exciting, even if it is shorter.

I woke up this morning energized. Yay, sleep, the cure-all. I get to work... and get assigned to clean the stairs. This involves sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing them all, and then sweeping and vacuuming all the landings. Well, the JFSB is huge, to say the least. There are four flights of stairs I get to clean... one on each corner of the building. Now, including parking levels, there are seven levels. Which basically means... a LOT of stairs. And, unfortunately, although there are usually multiple people assigned to this chore, my supervisor only assigned me to do it. Even though this is an indirect praise (I trust you to do the work of two or three people in less time!), this is mildly frustrating.

I sweep. Sweep. ... And then, I put the broom away. I sidle down to the basement custodial closet to get an Unger mop, and--- ARGH! WHERE ARE THEY? I search each closet repeatedly for the mops. None of them are there... which means they are all in use.

I can't not mop.

I mean, the stairs are FILTHY! What with the snow and salt and dirt and over the ground outside, once people walk in, the dirty snow melts into dirt slush and dries on the stairs. Also, people track in salt as well. Shoes prints. All over the place. So.. so... disgusting, and desperately screaming to be cleaned.

But no mop. I cry out in distress. My hungry stomach joins in, making a chorus of general tragedy.

I saunter depressedly over to the custodial office, where my boss is training the new guy... I inquire about mops... at which point I notice Brian munching on a cream-cheese-less wheat bagel. He gives me the other half of the bagel, which causes my screaming stomach to immediately shut up, and says, "What, are there no more in the closets?"

"No, none. And the stairs are filthy."

We double check the closets... and then Brian gets a crazy look in his eye, as he continues to devour the helpless bagel. "We could always steal a mop from the other crew..." I'm sure my eyes took on that evil glint as well. Mop stealing: necessary, barbaric, and totally adventurous. I take an evil bite into my equally helpless half-bagel, and agree.

Always with my iPod handy, I turn the song to the Mission Impossible Theme to spice it up. Immediately, our gaits turn into sneaky spy-like walks. We creep down the basement hallways like spiders, pressed against the walls, seeking out the not-so-innocent mophogs. Each empty hallway we pass is a relief. Then... the last hallway.

Voices. Laughter. Music. We definitely found the other crew.

Brian is the lead student. So, in addition to higher pay, he has valuable custodial authority... As far as my position goes, we have fake rankings. I am directly under Brian, so if he ever died, or disappeared, or quit... I'd be lead student. So... I've got faux authority, but no extra pay. Thankfully, I only need authority to pull off the mop stealing. We pull out of our strangely feline spywalks and start walking authoritatively down the hallway, like we were supposed to be there. The thing is, high ranking custodians pretty can go wherever they need without being questioned, because it is assumed that we know exactly what we're doing. And we do.

We make it through the first wave of enemy crewmembers without breaching security.

"Target identified, over," says Brian.

I look over and see it. An Unger mop bucket... with two Unger mops.

"Copy, over." We move in. Brian smoothly grabs the mop and squeezes the water out. This is a rather noisy business... but the enemy don't notice, because Brian and I are nothing out of the ordinary, and it probably did not register that it wasn't one of their crew making the water noises, since they were so commonplace. Then, I grab the mop, prop it on my shoulder, and we smoothly walk away, acting quite ordinary and as if we had been in possession of the mop the whole time.

We clear the enemy lines again, and return to our territory. "Target obtained, mission complete."

Brian and I exchange farewells, and I, short on time, return to stair cleaning.