“Raymond, we have a few bucks left over in the budget and I wanna spruce-up my new office a bit… I’m ordering a new desk,” Jim the principal exclaimed. Jim was the longest standing Vice Principal ever at the high school and was finally promoted to full principal after twenty-six rocky, hard-fought years.
“Well, that’s great, have ya found anything you like?” I said.
“Raymond…feast your eyes on this,” Jim said pointing at the L shaped monster in an office supply catalog.
I cast my eyes onto page three. There it was at the top, the pinnacle of design, with simulated mahogany wood finish, ten drawers, a bead of gold trim surrounding the desk’s writing surface, and a come-hither look.
“Wow, she’s a beauty, I really like the gold drawer knobs,” I said, looking at the photo.
“The Majestic Executive, it’s the company’s flagship model. I’m ordering the optional pigeonhole attachment too. It should be arriving in the next few days, so be ready to surplus this old one, will ya Ray?”
There was nothing wrong with the present desk, I thought to myself while looking around the room. It was just a little dated, style-wise. It was metal, with an avocado-colored carcass and drawers, dark, simulated wood Formica top and tough-as-nails 1960s construction. But he wanted it out, and that was that.
I was one of the three swing-shift janitors at the high school, and I spent my working life cleaning classrooms and dumping the hundreds of garbage cans after the school day’s trials and misadventures. However, as the senior night employee, I was required to fill-in during the morning and afternoon for the “normal” day custodian Big Tom, who was out on administrative leave after he screamed profanities at some teenagers, and the parents complained. I would be filling in for six excruciating weeks while Big Tom was investigated by the district security department.
A few days after my desk conversation with Jim, on a sunny Thursday afternoon, I was cleaning up after the daily feeding frenzy in the cafeteria, when off in the distance, I could hear what I thought was the vague, far-away beeping of a delivery truck backing-up.
Exactly five minutes later: “Raymond… please come to the main office, you have a delivery, Raymond, to the main office please,” crackled over my district issue walkie-talkie.
It’s been my professional experience that most desks are big, blocky objects, so I was taken aback when the stack of four, mattress shaped boxes lay off to the side in the office lobby area, a five-gallon bucket of screws and hardware sitting close by. “Complete Desk Assembly Kit, (Majestic Executive),” was printed on the top box. “Includes ninety-seven-page instruction booklet!”
“Ray, you gotta get these outta here right away, they’re taking up too much space,” Beverly, the office manager barked.
I walked across campus to our janitor’s office in the boiler room, a little teary-eyed, and retrieved a rolling flat cart. I needed to get started on my new hobby right away.
First thing on the agenda, get those goddamned boxes out of the office and over to the boiler room where I can work in peace. Even though it was hot and noisy, with two giant steam boilers screaming like freight trains, it was simply out of the question to try and assemble it in the busy office area, let alone in Jim’s office. I estimated each box at eighty to a hundred pounds. I hauled one at a time on the flat cart and eventually had everything I needed muscled into the boiler-room.
Every day, I worked on the desk, and even though the instructions were a little confusing and oftentimes frustrating, I made steady progress. One day, I assembled several drawers in my spare time between the cafeteria’s breakfast program at eight A.M., and first lunch at eleven. I had a regular cleaning schedule that needed to be strictly adhered to, so it was a “do it when you can,” proposition. Another day, I assembled part of the main body of the desk and attached the top, all the while our two humongous boilers thundered away in the background.
Still, I couldn’t help but notice how cheaply made and flimsy all the components were. Everything was particleboard, a sort-of pressed together sawdust and glue product, covered in paper printed to look like wood instead of real wood or metal. The pictures in the catalog were, quite frankly, deceiving and the old desk was way better in my opinion. But screw it, what do I care? Jim wanted the desk and it’s none of my business.
“How’s that desk comin’ along Raymond?” Jim said a few weeks into the ordeal. I could tell he was getting antsy, and a little concerned about progress. I was confident in my own personal abilities to get the job done, but with the daily workload, I admit it was tough to wrap it up in a timely fashion.
“I’m almost there Jim … that five-gallon bucket of hardware is close to empty now … I just got the pigeonhole accessory to build. I’ll have the whole thing up in your office in no time!”
I had another worry though, and it hit me during the final assembly phase of the major components. How am I gonna move this sawdust elephant up to the office? Will it even fit through the boiler room door? I grabbed my tape measure, and to my relief, if I hauled it on its back with the L shape sticking straight up, it would indeed fit through all the doors on the route to Jim’s office. I was relieved. It’s the small wins that really help a guy.
The weeks dragged by, and the day finally came -- moving day. I had to coordinate things with the principal, and it was sort of a dance. First, I needed to move his old desk out, Jim needed to move the never-ending staff meetings from his office to other areas, and I had to get that damn particleboard nightmare out of the boiler-room, across campus and up the concrete ramp to the office building.
“What are you doing with Jim’s old desk?” Beverly asked me as I was hauling it out of his office on a dolly.
“I’m just taking it to the surplus room … why?”
“I want it,” she said firmly.
“Okay.”
I replaced the office manager’s small oak unit with Jim’s heavy-duty principal’s desk he was getting rid of and hauled her’s to the surplus room. Her desk had been one of the smaller teacher’s desks, with rounded corners, peeling varnish and only had drawers on the right side. Really almost a child’s desk. Jim’s old unit had drawers on both sides, and I could tell she was quite happy with the improvement. Big and spacious drawers, with a commanding work surface. She soon had her nameplate at the front of the desk -- “Beverly Blackwell, Office Manager.”
And I was happy too, her old desk was small, light and almost a pleasure to transport.
Next, and the part I had been dreading, move the new one in.
I stood in the boiler-room and stared at my three-hundred-pound nemesis, which had tormented my soul for weeks. Finally, it would be out of my life, and I was excited to have this pain behind me.
I placed the flat cart in front of the desk, and tipped it over, drawers facing skyward. She was a hefty beast, but it fit nicely. A sheet of cardboard on the cart helped protect the finish from any scratches. The L part of the unit stuck up in the air, but this was of no concern. Next, I blocked the boiler room door open and pushed the project through. It was heavy, but it easily, and almost willingly rolled to the adjacent sidewalk, and into the bright sunshine. I was outside with the desk on the cart. Now, all I needed to do was to simply move it to Jim’s office. I was a little behind in my after-lunch cafeteria clean-up, but I figured there would be time to catch up later. I needed to get this project over with.
I couldn’t help but think how Big Tom timed his suspension, and security investigation just perfectly. If he hadn’t lost his temper and went psychotic on those children, he would be the one moving this thing right now. Lucky bastard … Time wasn’t waiting for me, so I began my long trek to the office. Some of the walkways were uneven with cracks and bulges from tree roots making maneuvering tough. The desk sometimes wanted to slip off the cart and I had to stop to readjust things numerous times. As the sidewalk gently transitioned to a slight incline, I could feel the desk’s enormous weight push against me as I moved along.
Finally, I made it to the long concrete ramp which led to the office double doors. I was almost home free. I took a deep breath, and I began to shove with most of my strength to get ‘er really moving up the ramp. It was at this point, the first inklings of impending doom invaded my psyche. Call it a premonition or whatever you like, but I chose to ignore my gut feelings and plunged forward. That’s when I inadvertently moved my hands high on the L portion of the desk sticking up in the air, and a quick succession of snapping and cracking rang out. A heartbeat later, the L portion of the desk broke free and collapsed onto the rest of the carcass, with my tired, middle-aged body on top of it.
There are events in a person’s life when time slows down. This was one of those moments. The cart with me on top instantly began rolling back down the ramp, chunks of particleboard and sawdust scattering about. Even sections of the gold trim which had lined the writing surface fell away.
When the cart stopped, I didn’t hear any children’s laughter, so I don’t think anyone saw me screw this up. I didn’t feel as though I’d injured myself, but now Jim’s new magnificent desk was a lost dream.
How exactly did I get here? What things in my life went wrong to where I’ve now ended up laying on this smoldering pile of dog crap?
I stood up and re-adjusted my clothing. I had about ten minutes until the bell would ring and the throngs of teenagers pushed and screamed their way to their next class. I had to move fast. I moved what was left back to the boiler room and placed all the various debris that fell away into a garbage can. I worked up a plan in my head, and figured I could possibly re-assemble things with some help from hardware store plywood, more wood screws and a big bottle of professional carpenter’s glue. Sure, it would probably look shitty, however maybe I could partially redeem myself. But now the real problem -- what was I gonna tell Jim …
“Raymond, this is Jim… are you on your way?” crackled over my walkie-talkie. “I’m having a meeting later with the Superintendent and I need to have that desk pretty quick … Raymond, do you copy?”
“UUHH … Yeah, Jim, there’s a little problem. Can I come up to the office?”
I made my way to the office, a little reluctant, but I had to come clean with Jim. There was no other way around it.
“Whaddaya mean it broke apart?” Jim said, his eyes like saucers.
“Well, I was transporting it to your room here, I slipped, and it crushed itself under its own weight, just broke apart into little pieces. It’s a complete piece of junk.”
“Damnit Raymond, I gotta meeting in here in thirty minutes with the Superintendent … I need a desk, quick. We’ll worry about the new one later, just get me something … where’s my old one?”
Jim looked out of his back office and into the main office area where the efficient but somewhat short-tempered Beverly Blackwell typed away on her computer.
“Beverly has your old desk, Jim … do you want to ask her for it back?” I said almost whispering so she couldn’t hear.
“Mmm, no … Raymond, I don’t think so,” he said in a low voice. “Just bring me her old one … it’s in the surplus room, right?”
“Sure thing, I’ll bring it right up,” I said.
Jim was scared of her too.
I delivered Beverly’s old desk to Jim’s office and after his meeting with the Superintendent, we both met in the boiler room to assess the damage to the new one.
“Boy … it really was cheap, wasn’t it?” Jim said to me as we checked out the mess.
“It collapsed when I was pushing it up the ramp,” I said.
I finished my workday, feeling a little more at ease, knowing my principal was accepting of the situation. I felt bad about the desk. Jim had me throw its remains in the school dumpster where the rest of it broke apart without effort, and I was relieved to see it go.
From that day forward, Beverly Blackwell retained his principal’s desk, and Jim was stuck with her crummy little three drawer teacher’s unit with the peeling varnish.
I drove home that Friday afternoon, feeling good about having the desk ordeal behind me. The regular day janitor Big Tom had been written-up for his profanity charged altercation with some of the students, and was put on probation, but would be returning to work the following Monday. I was really enthused about Big Tom’s return. This meant I could go back to my sweet little night janitor gig… I didn’t need to come to work until two-thirty on Monday afternoon, which was the best news I had in weeks.
The Piker Press moderates all comments.
Click here for the commenting policy.