The domain of a custodian, I am learning every day, is a complicated substructure in the world of life as we know it. The position of custodian is neither coveted, envied, nor praised, yet custodians are the critical to a well oiled/functioning society. Their job is dirty, base, lonely… yet empowering. They have access to areas of the world that most people never see, a “master-key” that opens any door or closet, and access cards that open doors that are otherwise locked to the public. Custodians work during dark, quiet hours when the average human is just waking sleepily and trying to convince themselves that ‘they do want to go to work today’. When the average human stumbles into work to clean restrooms and dust-free offices they don’t think twice about what it would be like if a custodian had not invaded their personal space, vacuumed around desks and chairs, replaced burnt-out light bulbs, ‘windexed’ windows or taken out the trash. They have already forgotten about the piles of recycling they left the day before, or the paper-punch dots that scattered the floor—or the mess someobody’s child made in the restroom the day before… or that one of the toilets wasn’t working very well. They don’t’ even know that a co-worker threw up on the floor of the kitchen, or left rotten food in the fridge—it doesn’t occur to them that entropy is missing from their lives because of the all-powerful custodian.
What would happen if a custodian didn’t unlock the doors when they arrived each morning? Or didn’t replace the toilet paper or paper towels? Would anyone notice if they didn’t clean the water fountains or scrub the toilets? Perhaps for a few days of absent custodians nobody would notice, but would anyone take responsibility for the state of bathrooms, halls and offices after a week? After two? Who would break down first? The dean? The secretaries? Who would pawn the job off on whom? Would they appreciate the custodians more after three weeks? Would they say thank you when they saw one? Would I?
In the ELC there is a woman named Joyce, she knows all the custodians names and chats with them like her own friends. She remembers where they are from and what they are studying, and what their plans are for the summer. She notices when they change shifts.
Custodians are just people with jobs, like anyone else. Some people look down on the position of a custodian. Some sneer at those who support their families by cleaning other people’s messes. But custodians on the BYU campus get paid better than most other student jobs on campus—still, most people would never venture to be one, making excuses for the early shifts or dirty work—but aren’t custodians sort of everyday super-people? Isn’t their work the art of customer-service at it’s prime. Everyone notices if a waiter isn’t pleasant, or doesn’t do his job to another’s standards. But the mark of a good custodian is that the people they serve don’t even realize they have been served-- They take pride in their surroundings, notice details that others overlook. Their business is hidden-customer-service. A job well-done means that other people’s lives go smoothly and without hitch.-- without “minor” (though seemingly major) details such as being stranded in a stall without toilet paper, having to use a dirty toilet, not having soap to wash with, or running out of paper towels when there’s a spill on their desk.
Custodians are the best at anticipating the needs of others, they take care of details that others take for granted. They are unseen. Their work is through when others’ begins. They maintain the world as we know it at no price to ourselves.
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