Washed Up (207 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 2 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Parlor Trick (View user info) at 2006-10-10 11:44:36 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
Eyes darting, searching the ground, Danny weaved between the people adorned with briefcases and tightly knotted ties. Anxiously he scanned the sidewalk in front of the building for the missing bag as if it might appear where it wasn't moments ago. His unshaven face and weathered cap clashed with the smooth tailored professionals who were arriving for work. But they, as always, failed to notice Danny as they made their way through the morning pleasantries delivered only to those in proper attire.
For the second time in 10 minutes, Danny merged into an open slot in the rotating glass door of the 30-story structure. His pace forcibly slowed to that of the mechanical stroll of the turning glass panels. Water stained work boots shuffled along with the polished Italian leather of the suited man beyond the moving glass in front of him. The man in pressed linen with silver buckled briefcase was released into the marbled interior and three steps later Danny in denim and wrinkled grey cotton emerged as well. The hum of conversation dispersed into the elevators and more replaced it with each turn of the door.
On his first day of work nearly nine years ago, it was made clear that maintenance personnel were to use the side building entrance. While their contribution to the building's appearance was greatly appreciated, the main entrance and its seasonally fresh flowers were for the tenants. He was given some space in the lower level janitors' room to store his equipment. His name was written in permanent marker over a hook used to hold his harness and cables. Buckets, squeegees and cleaning solutions were to be stored neatly in designated areas. Management was not responsible for loss or theft of personal belongings stored in company lockers. Other than the occasional encounter with Larry, head of maintenance, Danny generally managed to avoid contact with those inside the building. He preferred getting to know them from the outside, somewhat separated from their consent.
The satchel that had ridden on his hip each day on the job was not in his locker. It was not in the trunk of his car, under any seat or behind any door. It wasn't the streak-free absorbent sponges he feared losing. Danny maneuvered towards the Visitor's Desk, where, according to Page 43 of the Employee Manual, he would find the Lost and Found.
Before reaching the desk he could see the clock-shaped sign on the counter read "Back in 10 Minutes" as it had 10 minutes ago. As if in cruel conspiracy with Danny's predicament Eva Schmidt had taken an uncharacteristically long morning break. The paper towel note he had left earlier lay untouched on her chair. "Please help! I'm looking for a brown leather bag. Very important! ~ Danny (the window washer)." He had considered writing, "don't look inside," but that would have guaranteed it.
He checked his watch, his shift started in four minutes and the satchel, its contents and Eva were gone.
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He had always liked photography but his father made it clear that such artsy fartsy nonsense would never lead to a fruitful career. Seventeen thousand dollars worth of failed higher education left both Danny and his father in agreement that any dreams of recognized success were washed up. Working his way up from general building maintenance, Danny had considered it a respectable accomplishment to pass the Commercial Window Washer training and safety class and be given a 75 cent an hour raise. His father, a property manager of significant clout, remained unimpressed, but he had a problem with heights.
The first time Danny lowered himself from the roof of the National Union Bank he marveled at the view of the structural landscape. The boundless sky reflected from tinted glass windows and Danny was on top of the world. He hung from two-inch diameter ANSI safety-rated cables with his yellow wash bucket, extendable squeegee and a brown leather satchel. In the beginning only the cloths, sponges and a forty-dollar digital camera filled the space in the bag.
The idea occurred to him quite by accident about eight years ago. Arms aching, fingernails stained slate gray from scratching stubborn bird deposit from one of many edges, Danny punched the clock in the janitors' room. He stuffed all of his belongings into Locker #3 except the leather bag slung over his shoulder. He walked to his car that was waiting the service lot in the rear of the building and drove the seven miles home.
Once inside his second floor studio apartment, Danny kicked off his work boots from his water soaked socks and let them tumble beneath the table. He leaned back in the hardwood chair and scrolled through the pictures of the day. Images of clouds impersonating farm animals, yellow taxis in greedy lines and one unexpected picture of Lucy Holland's uncrossed legs, flashed before him.
Danny stared at the small image on the screen for several minutes, transferred the file to his computer and stared at it in higher resolution, for several minutes more. Beyond the shadows of the window glass, he could see bare knees parted slightly below the edge of a cream colored skirt. Black strapped shoes lay on the floor near an overstuffed purse. Although blue commercial grade carpet consumed most of the picture, the partial curve of the woman's hip that stopped at the edge of the photograph left Danny wanting more. Feeling exposed, he got up and closed the blinds.
The company directory identified Lucy Holland, Marketing Agent, as the woman with the provocative knees who occupied the center office on the north side of the 22nd Floor. Lucy's phone number was clearly displayed but Danny didn't write it down. He preferred to keep his relationships at a distance and mostly in his head. The directory listed over 300 names of those who worked inside. The people were neatly organized into departments separated by floors. Danny decided to look inside and see what he was missing.
At the start of every shift, he prepared his equipment and looked forward to the day's catch. The windows weren't getting cleaned to the same scrutiny as before, but no one seemed to notice. The content of his photos was improving. He enjoyed the captured images of bent over secretaries but as the months progressed, he found himself drawn to the more questionable attractions of human behavior. He watched from an outside corner sill as Norma Jordon, Floor 17, tucked the remains of a fifth of vodka behind the file folders in her lower left drawer. The photo if sent to just the right person, would do wonders in erasing that collagen-enhanced smugness from her face. Randy Pendergrass from Floor 11 appeared to be smiling at the camera, invincible with four white lines on the desk before him. He didn't fault Jim Hacket from the 9th Floor Human Resources Department, for appreciating Japanese Internet porn, but he took the picture anyway, ranking it better than the stapler and four calculators photographed being put inside Shelly Taylor's shoulder bag.
He watched the occupants with suspended interest, day after day, logging their actions and picking his favorite, most guilty character from each floor. On one particularly productive day, Nancy Parker enthusiastically straddled the lap of Troy Ferris, neither aware of the man on the other side of the window with the digital camera 14 stories up. Danny wondered if she was aware of the wedding picture stashed in Troy's file cabinet.
Later that night, he printed copies of the image and inserted one into each of the 30 pre-stamped envelopes. Each envelope was neatly addressed to an acting department manager, some of whom were featured in his work. Danny ensured that members of each department were represented in his private collection. Whenever a blind was dropped with dismissive rudeness, he savored the thought of his subjects viewing his pictures, knowing at last the position he held over them.
Possession of the prepared envelopes empowered him beyond any penthouse executive. His authority was claimed without witness. Mailing the letters would of course expose the sender along with those displayed inside. As the years passed he held the letters close, their contents upgraded when better material arrived. His armor improved with each new photograph and he remained invisible to his targets just outside the window.
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The lock clicked on the door to the janitors' room at 6:30 am. Larry, head of maintenance, flipped on the light and immediately noticed a brown satchel next to a locker, clearly not stored per protocol. Without considering it's obvious owner, Larry took the bag and left it at the front desk for Eva, to sort out.
Half eaten bagel in hand, Eva eyed the brown leather satchel resting on the marbled counter. She shifted her bulk behind the desk and inspected the exterior of the bag for identification. Non-found, she justified the bags invasion and inside she found a digital camera and several neatly addressed, pre-stamped envelopes - thirty to be exact; one was addressed to her.
Eva shifted her weight in the chair and glanced around the lobby. The glass-paneled door began to turn. She felt the thickness of the envelope with her name carefully printed. She envisioned a long-awaited invitation that shouldn't be lost in the Lost and Found and considered the mailbox one block away.
Letters tucked under her arm, she locked the satchel in a drawer beneath the desk and adjusted the sign on the counter to read "Back in 10 Minutes." She didn't notice the unshaven man in the baseball cap entering the building.
User Reviews
Submitted by charminglybeef (user info) at 2007-06-06 23:43:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was one of the best of the contest.
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-06-05 12:29:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2