Night Work

The head custodian rode me hard from the minute I punched in right to the end of my shift, night after night.

The son of a bitch moved as quiet as a cat and had the nasty habit of popping out like a jack-in-the-box in places you’d least expect—a stall in the ladies’ room, a file cabinet in some executive’s office, a steel-clad shutter of the boiler room.

How he managed to be everywhere and still get through his own considerable workload was an ongoing mystery.

Even now I am not convinced that there was only one of him.

Friday Fictioneers

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  1. rochellewisoff

    Dear Josh,

    Sounds like a jerk I worked for. He couldn’t wait to get someone in trouble. And if something was his fault, he looked for someone to take the fall. Well written. (And tell your alter ego his story was simply brilliant…I’d tell him myself but he never comments on my stories. ;) )

    Shalom,

    Rochelle

Don't just stand there.