The Most Important Things I Ever Learned

(Written August 29, 2012)

About thirty years ago, when I was in college, I had a job as a security guard.  What I learned from the janitors was far more important than anything I learned in class.

Night janitors and maids have a thankless job.  You never hear about them.  You rarely if ever see them.  But when you walk into a corporate office building, you expect it to be spotlessly clean, to reflect the high standards and professionalism of the corporation.  The carpets are vacuumed.  Floors are spotless.  Doorknobs are polished to a shiny luster.  And there is never a speck of dust in sight.

Who achieves that?

As I manned my post, I watched the night crew come in with mops and buckets, buffing machines and brooms, and various spray bottles of cleaning fluid.  They quickly set about their jobs with efficiency, since they had only a few hours to complete their many and varied tasks.

These people never shirked.  Every corner was meticulously cleaned.  Every detail was conscientiously attended.  If something did not seem quite right, these men and women made it right.  In short, they did far more than merely getting by.  They took pride in their work.

When their shift was nearing its end, the inspectors would come in and look things over.  Rarely did they find a discrepancy, and those they did find were so trifling that I was sure they were simply affirming their own existence.

Finally, the night crew would stow all their equipment, and leave the building, headed for their bus stops.  Some of them were going home to get their children off to school.  Some were going to second jobs.

Then, the office workers would arrive.  Within seconds, the devotedly polished door handles were smudged.  A few seconds after that, the carpet was stained by spilled coffee.  Day workers walked past the carefully dusted wall decorations without noticing them.  Executives put their lunches in the small refrigerators that had been defrosted and cleaned the night before.  Near the coffee dispenser was a sign, handwritten by a secretary saying, “Unless your mother works here, clean up your own mess.”

By the time the sun went down, and another busy day was at end, the office workers flowed out the door toward the parking garage, in a hurry to get to their SUVs before rush hour got going.

As darkness fell, the night crew arrived, to repeat their chores.

There is no super bowl for janitors.  There are no gala balls with red carpets for maids.  The night crew are never invited to the White House to receive medals.  Nobody sees them.  Nobody knows about them . . . .

. . . . except me and God, and now, you.