The Distinguished Janitor

"I want to finger your toilet."

I think of myself as something of a factotum, a working class rogue, too wild and ambitious to be tethered to one job for too long. Instead, I bounce from career to career, expanding on an ever widening set of skills and experiences. That's how I think of myself. My girlfriend has another word for rogue: "Fucking bum." I have a college degree, and have worked in professional office environments, but I have not ever held a position important enough to warrant my own business card. I think that is my one regret in life. Oh, mighty business card, how dapper you are and how aristocratic you make your owner look, so prominently displaying your master's company, name, position, and numbers where he or she can be easily reached. How freely you are handed out and stored away. No, friends, I have never known the gentle caress of a business card betwixt my fingers as I hold it out assuredly to some random imbecile, saying to him, "If you have any questions, let me know." And the lucky person receiving my business card would indeed have questions, because I would use a lot of technical jargon and interoffice slang to make me look smart. The customer would think, "Man, this guy really knows his shit. I better put his business card on the fridge, because my infantile brain cannot wrap itself around all the knowledge that this man is emitting, like a beautiful celestial aura." And he would take my business card, a little piece of my heart, with him. I think it would be wonderful if every job was important enough for a business card. Janitors could leave them in urinals, maybe with a little bullseye graphic on them. Or have a maid leave hers in a freshly dumped wastebasket (has a business card ever been made in Spanish [I am not a racist.]?). The clerk at the liquor store could slip his in the bag for your 40 oz. bottle of Laser specialty malt liquor. "Call me if this don't get you fucked up," he could say. A teacher could pass his business card to his favorite student, while telling her, "I'm giving you an A for ass. Call me." Priests could give their business card to members of their parish. One could read: St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church. Father Milton Fitzpatrick. "It's not a sin if just the tip goes in." Strippers and hookers (one in the same, honestly) could hand them out to the biggest tippers. I could go on and on. Yuppies and CEOs and doctors and lawyers shouldn't be the only ones to get business cards. Every job should be considered important enough for one. But alas, perhaps I am just jealous. Perhaps it is too much to ask that such professional equality could ever exist. Maybe I should just be happy with what my past jobs have provided me with. You see, though I have never had my own business card, I have had my fair share of employee ID numbers. 118187. A42E119. EM112584009. 00080997. GEI4441376. THX1138. Equality 7-2521. OK, those last two are the names of the heroes from George Lucas's film THX 1138 and Ayn Rand's novella Anthem, but see how easily and inconspicuously they can just slide into my past employee ID numbers. I know these ID numbers are not meant to evoke images of dystopian futures as in 1984, but still...ID numbers, companies say, are a good way of not only keeping records on employees, but it is also a good way to ensure the confidentiality of said records. Isn't that wonderful! Your company probably uses the same system as your state prison! Cubicles have become the new rock quarries. The computer has become the new hammer. The telephone headset is the new ball and chain. Fuck you, Eric. What gives you the right to bash people's jobs you self-righteous asshole! True, true. It is easy for me to sit here and write this from the safety of my home, whilst some of my readers may have something like the very jobs I am criticizing. But look on the bright side, while I can afford to scoff at those shackled to phones and the monotonous beeps of incoming calls, I cannot afford health insurance, car insurance, renters insurance, rent, groceries, clothes, food...Maybe I would enjoy low-paying, completely mundane work if it just felt more important. And that is where the necessity of business cards come in, I suppose. Of course, we need you here, Danny! We put your goddamn fax number on a little piece of fucking paper! Hand that out to as many people as you need to. Ahhhh....I envy you, Danny, arbitrary, white-collar manager that I just made up.

The Moore You Know: Leaders of the Ku Klux Klan refer to themselves as either Grand Dragons or Imperial Wizards. Seriously? Wizards and Dragons? What a bunch of fuckin nerds. I picture these guys as kids who were really into Dungeons & Dragons, but at the same time still very racist. "When I'm older, I'm going to form my own club, and I'm going to where a cloak, and a mask, and ride a horse, and YOU'RE NOT INVITED! Neither are the blacks, the Jews, the Catholics, the homosexuals, the......."

© Eric Moore - 2010