When most people think of cleaners, if they think of them at all, they see them as oddities and dullards. They see cleaners as simple people with simple lives and simple dreams. They don't realize that they're complex people just like them. The man or woman whose job entails cleaning an entire building has aspirations, dreams and goals, hobbies and achievements just like any other human being.
The cleaners are not another species of human. They're people whose lives are just as worthwhile as those of the business people and executives whose properties they maintain day after day, night after night. The lines that human beings form to divide themselves from their fellows are ultimately useless. When one really thinks about it, they truly don't matter...
Someday, the President, the Prime Minister, the Beautiful Supermodel, the Handsome Actor, the Man With Billions, the Cleaner and the Homeless Man will be buried in the same dirt. The worms will have their feast, and those once formidable specimens of Humanity will become skeletons, then dust. Get used to it. With that being said, and without further ado, here is the tale of a certain cleaning lady and the ups and downs of her far-from-mundane life...
Rosemarie Etienne the cleaning lady walks through the office building, methodically cleaning up washrooms, mopping floors and emptying waste baskets. The way Rosemarie sees it, she's making order out of chaos. And she does this while listening to Wagner's Opera Music because that's what she enjoys. It's the overnight shift, meaning that the building is empty. There's nobody around...or is there?
Rosemarie pauses in front of the hallway leading to the Main Office, occupied by some big-shot white dude. She stops because she knows the security camera is watching her. A smile creases her lovely face, for she knows exactly who's watching the cameras. With a sly wink, Rosemarie blows the camera a kiss, and then purposefully bends down to tie her shoe. She takes far longer than she normally would, and there's a reason for that...
Theodore Stephen the security guard sits at the front desk, watching the cameras and the clock. It's one o'clock, and this office building, located in the environs of Kanata, Ontario, is as dead as a doornail. Whatever that means. So many odd expressions. The security guard's first language isn't English, nor is his second language. Thedore is fluent in Haitian Creole and French. The brother hails from the island of Haiti, and works as a security guard to make ends meet while going to college part-time.
Theodore is twenty three years old, and feels like doing very different things with his Friday night. Working overnight security definitely blows. Tomorrow, when he checks Facebook, he's going to see pictures of friends and classmates having fun in bars, clubs, restaurants and movie theaters. They're doing the things that Theodore wishes he could be doing. Isn't life frigging grand?
Theodore's duties are normally dull, but something on the cameras catch his attention. Rosemarie the cleaning lady is bending over, and that big round ass of hers has the security guard's pulse quickening. Is there anything more magnificent than an African woman's naturally thick derriere? Theodore smiles as Rosemarie blows him a kiss, and then disappears into the office to do some actual cleaning.
"Sweetie you just made my night," Theodore Stephen says, smiling as Rosemarie does her thing. It's moments like these that make his normally boring job worthwhile. The brother is in his second year at La Cite Collegiale, where he studies Police Foundations. It's definitely a crucial time in his academic career and not the time to take his foot off the gas. Theodore is a man with big dreams...
