Never Mess With A Custodian

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Hi, my name is Stan... and I'm a Custodian. I know what you're thinking, most people do... because few people grew up in life wanting to be one, but just like garbage collection, and waste removal, it's very important work.

In your schools, they're often thought of as the poor ones that were somehow unfortunate in life, or retired handymen not wanting to put up with corporations anymore, but still wanting to remain active with some extra cash. In your movies, they're sagacious with a checkered past that helps the protagonist in some way.

My job is a bit different. I work at a military installation, I have a loving wife who is very proud of me, and after a few years on the job, I started to receive a fairly decent wage.

Her brother on the other hand... not so proud. He's a reasonably nice person, takes care of his family, has a nice home, stressed out by where the country is headed, All-American type. He's also a Lieutenant Colonel at the base nearby and thinks what I do is a joke. He'll refer to me as "his brother", but usually laughs when he introduces me as a janitor. In fact, on more than one occasion, he's tried to coax his sister to leave me for a "more suitable" person, and she's nicely told him to go to hell. It's an almost amusing exchange... almost...

One day, though... I just couldn't handle it anymore. I knew better, but I have a long fuse... and the line finally exploded.

"Tell you what, Gerald," I responded, somewhat tersely to his jibes one night at a family get together. "I'll show you what I do exactly; You might even like it."

"Why would I want to watch you empty out trashcans, Stan?" he replied, one eyebrow raised so high, it was almost a part of his buzzcut. "I have important things to do tomorrow. Paperwork and--"

"Yea, it's a Saturday. You never work on Saturdays unless you're called in and you've commented on my going in on weekends... but if you don't think you can handle it..." I chided taking another swig of my beer knowing he would rise to the bait. They're always so competitive these types.

He gibbered. "You don't think I can handle the smell?"

"Don't worry... no one would ask you to actually conduct any of the work. There's all kinds of equipment you're not rated to handle... but if you think you have the stomach for it meet me outside at 0630 and I'll show you the OA."

He looked somewhat confused that I was calling him out, but my use of military jargon had gotten his interest piqued. "Deal," he replied somewhat slowly and pointed his glass towards me. "But don't think I won't make comments." He was still trying to save face.

"Wouldn't have it any other way..." I grinned.

The next morning, he was as good as his word and we headed towards the job. "...where are we?" He kept asking. "You know the area, brother. All trees, rocks & stone. There's a river somewhere to the West, but you'll see where we are."

20 minutes later, we arrived at a large armored gate and several armed individuals walked towards my car. "Uh, Stan. I have a feeling I shouldn't be here... so you definitely shouldn't."

"You'll be fine, big baby. Hand me your ID." I responded as the guard approached my already open window.

"Sir, this is a restrict-- Oh, hey Stan! Didn't recognize the car. New?"

"Hey, Raj! Eh, it's newish... They have me testing something with it. Guess it's working."
Gerald started muttering incoherently to himself... before bursting out, "What the hell is going on?"