The new cleaners at work are exciting, but not fun.
The old ones were fun. They had this comedy approach to stuff you just couldn’t beat. For instance, during the incredible red-dust storms in Sydney, these guys were out in the carpark with their leaf-blowers. Planes couldn’t land and visibility was down to six foot, but these guys were out there, moving leaves around in a Martian landscape.
They had this delightful approach to wondering through areas full of high speed, heavy machinery, too. Armed with nothing more than a broom and their iPod headphones they'd be oblivious to everything that was trying to kill them, just bopping along to the beat.
They kept me fit. With their generous approach to cleaning, my immune system was in tip-top condition.
So the facilities dude decided we could do better.
But this new mob… well, I think the beautiful little South American looking one has opened her supplies room, looked at a years worth of floor wax and said to herself, “I can get this all down in one evening.”
The place has never been cleaner, and I’m not saying it’s slippery out there, but I just beat Charles Hamelin back from the kitchenette, and I didn’t even spill my tea.
Ok, I am saying it’s slippery out there.
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