Ode to UVM’s Cleaning Staff

Published September 17, 2007

By Mac Smith

Sundays can mean different things to me. There are certain Sundays when I lie paralyzed in bed, taking Tylenols, and cursing myself for finishing the rest of that SoCo last night.

Other times, Sundays are marathons at the library, fueled by Ritalin, energy drinks, and a growing knot in my stomach as I progressively realize the true nature of my workload.

Whatever the case, every Sunday shares one characteristic: A dorm hallway so devastatingly dirty it could have come out of a Hunter S. Thompson novel.

How does this happen every week? It’s a phenomenon that everyone manages to contribute to, but no one takes credit for. I mean, who would want to take credit for jamming Friday night’s fried chicken halfway down a sink drain?

All I want to do is brush my teeth without catching Ebola, and I shouldn’t feel like I have to travel through a HAZMAT zone just because I want to enjoy a nice Listerine Challenge. Whatever the case, I always manage to return to my room feeling a little dirtier than before I had left, doubly discouraged by the week ahead.

Then, something amazing happens. I wake up and it’s Monday morning. I walk down the hall for a shower when the Talking Heads song pops into my head as I think to myself, “how did I get here?”

I make my way down the hall and notice that the copious number of Domino’s boxes from the weekend seem to have magically vanished. For the first time in a while, the rug isn’t caked n a thick layer of hot sauce and blue cheese. I’m free to enter ANY stall I want and not be attacked by the stench of a urine-vomit gumbo. My favorite shower doesn’t look like a small ferret is trying to get down the drain, and ammonia has never smelled quite as good.

Every Monday, I renew my respect for the fine group of under-appreciated individuals who clean up after us. Their valiant efforts say “sure, your hygiene is deplorable, but that’s okay for another year or two.”

They scour the hallways every week but go relatively unnoticed. The only emotion we ever have towards them is the occasional irritation when they run the vacuum at 9:00 in the morning.

The next time you’re shuffling by, half asleep and in nothing but a towel, thank your cleaning person for cleaning up after all your shit. Imagine a world without these godsends.

Whenever I think of that world, I shudder.

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