They assigned a new trainee to Facilities.
Name: Trevor.
Age: barely old enough to rent a car.
Shoes: bright white, too clean.
Attitude: even brighter. Too confident.
He showed up chewing gum, half-listening to the orientation video, and said to no one in particular:
"It's just mopping. How hard can it be?"
The air got colder.
Everett was already behind him.
No footsteps. No warning. Just there.
"I wouldn't say that too loud," I whispered.
"Why? What's the janitor gonna do?" Trevor smirked.
Everett stepped forward and dropped a mop in his hand.
"Show me."
Trevor blinked.
"…What?"
"Floor's yours," Everett said. "Room 112."
Trevor looked over. "That's, like, five people in one room. You want me to mop around them?"
"No. I want you to mop through them," Everett replied.
Trevor laughed, but Everett didn't.
I watched from the hallway as the young man sauntered in, gave the mop one of those wide, lazy movie-style swipes, and immediately knocked over an IV pole.
A nurse cursed.
A patient startled.
The mop tangled itself under the bed.
Trevor froze.
Everett didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just said, "Try again."
Twenty minutes later, Trevor emerged red-faced and sweaty.
"Okay, I get it. It's not easy."
Everett handed him a clean towel.
"Not about being easy. It's about doing it right."
Trevor sat on a supply crate, panting. "I didn't think janitors were like… trained or anything."
Everett leaned on the mop like it was a staff of office.
"Ever heard of integrity?"
Trevor wiped his forehead. "Like… honesty?"
"Close," Everett said. "Integrity is doing it right when no one's watching. But also knowing why it needs to be done at all."
Trevor made a face. "Yeah, but it's just floors. Like, nobody thanks you for that."
Everett nodded slowly.
"My grandmother once told me," he began, "if your job is to scrub toilets, then you scrub those suckers like they're gold-plated. Clean 'em like angels are watching. Not because someone's grading you… but because you know you did it right."
Trevor gave a half-laugh.
"That sounds like something out of a movie."
Everett looked off toward the hallway.
"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe it's just something people forgot to believe in."
Later that day, I found them both in Room 204.
Trevor was learning how to sweep a room without ever touching a patient's shoes. It looked like janitorial tai chi.
"Watch your ripple," Everett instructed.
"My what?" Trevor asked.
"Ripple. Every time you mop, you change the energy of the room. If you slap the water down, people feel it. If you glide, people settle."
Trevor blinked. "Bro, are you saying mopping has a vibe?"
"Yes," Everett said. "And right now, yours is anxiety and energy drinks."
They practiced for an hour.
Trevor was exhausted.
I was entertained.
As they wrapped up, Trevor sat on a crate again and sighed.
"Okay, but real talk—when do I get to use the buffer machine?"
Everett looked at him solemnly.
"When your soul is ready."
Trevor laughed. "That's a no, huh?"
"Spiritual maturity comes before machinery," Everett said.
I couldn't tell if he was joking.
I'm still not sure.
As we walked out, Trevor leaned toward me and whispered, "Is he always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like… if Mr. Miyagi had a cleaning fetish?"
I snorted.
"That's just Everett. He's not trying to be a janitor. He is a janitor."
"There's a difference?"
I looked back at Everett, who was refolding a towel with surgeon-level precision.
"Yeah," I said. "There is."
Later that week, I found a laminated checklist hanging in the supply closet.
At first glance, it looked like a standard task list.
But Everett never leaves anything standard.
It read:
Custodial Apprentice Protocol – Level 1
If you are reading this, welcome. You're not ready, but you're willing. That's a start.
Mop silently. Not because it's cooler, but because the quiet teaches you where you're not welcome yet.
Observe without assuming. Every mess has a story. Learn the story.
Refuse shortcuts. Even if no one will know. Especially then.
Don't just clean— reset the room.
Leave a space better than you found it. That includes people.
Bonus Level:
When your ripple calms a room more than a pill… you've passed your first test.
Signed,
Dr. Everett, Custodian Emeritus of Floor Flow Theory
Trevor read it. Twice. Then a third time.
"Dude," he said. "Your janitor has lore."
I grinned.
"Now you're starting to get it."