Serial Saturday: "Fairies Under Glass" Part 1

Part 1

"First Day Jitters"

"Hurry up, Lewis! You don't want to be late for your first shift!"

Lewis Grant gave his textbooks one last shove and slammed the locker door. "Coming," he replied absently to the girl with long black braids hanging down her back.

Quincy jigged from foot to foot, her uniform-issued trainers squeaking as they slid on the floor.

Lewis regarded her with a dubious expression. "Of course you would be excited about more work," he groused.

Quincy giggled as they headed through the front hall of Browning Academy. "Not just any work, though," she replied. "A real job, just like an adult! I mean, sure, the library technically still belongs to the school, but I just love how it all feels so official!" She gave another hop-skip, the pleats of her calf-length uniform's skirt fluttering with the motion. "Plus, working in a library is just about my dream job," she added after a moment.

Lewis just wasn't able to match her vigor. "Good for you," he mumbled under his breath. Her feet might have had wings or springs on them, but his felt like his trainers had been carved from stone. Of all the tasks he could have gotten... Why couldn't it have been something else?

"Hey," Quincy stopped her bouncing and calmed down to walk alongside Lewis. "Why the long face? Didn't you get the job at the museum because you were interested in art?"

Lewis huffed. "Art? Yes; but the assignment is for janitorial work. It's not studying or learning about art, it's just cleaning it." He reached up to adjust the collar of his uniform polo. How was it that the same company that had been making the Browning Academy uniforms for so many years still managed to produce some truly uncomfortable articles of clothing? Whether it was a seam that rested in just the wrong spot, or overall itchy fabric that stayed stiff through the first several washings... Lewis just couldn't get a uniform that felt just right.

Quincy was still talking. "Anyway, Jesse got the job at the food court. Maybe after our shift ends, we can meet up there for dinner and just to hang out... Unless," her green eyes shifted over to him. "You don't have study hall tonight, do you?"

Lewis shook his head. "No, just on Wednesdays and Saturdays."

Quincy smiled. "Perfect! See you after work, Luke!"

Lewis offered her a wave as he stopped in front of the imposing entranceway to Moulton House.

Browning Academy was billed as an avant-garde private educational institution for students whose parents were interested in the amount of real-world professional experience it offered, along with rigorous educational courses of study. Sort of like a "college light" experience, students stayed in dorms on campus, attended classes in the main building, and received job assignments at one of the many businesses that were also on campus: a food court, a library, a bakery, an art museum, a grocery store, and even its own "Browning City Hall" for those interested in municipal employment. Students attending the Academy could continue to have their room and board and even meals paid for, if they applied for and accepted a "job" at one of these establishments. The requirements were usually parceled out into 4-hour shifts, occurring either in the early morning, afternoon, or evening (so as to not interfere with the classes the student would be required to maintain as well), and the job descriptions were very much at the discretion of the management in each industry.

In this case, the curator and proprietor of Moulton House was a rather eccentric old man named Mr. Gilroy. Lewis had only just hauled the large front door open and stepped into the massive foyer of the museum when the robust, limp-haired man came striding out of some obscure corner.

"Well! Right on time! That's good to see--starting off on the right foot, excellent form!" Gilroy grabbed Lewis' hand in his thick-jointed, calloused talon of a hand, and gave it a few good pumps. The man's checkered suit hurt Lewis' eyes almost as much as his scratchy skin, but the man didn't seem to notice.

Lewis winced against the wrench in his shoulder and said, "Mr. Gilroy? I'm here about the--"

"Janitor position!" Gilroy trumpeted, peering at him through the bottle-thick lenses of his glasses. The round frames over his wide-stretched smile gave his face a rather comical effect. He waved a finger triumphantly in the air. "It'll be your job to help keep this museum clean, without damaging any of the displays. Come with me, I'll show you where you will keep your things while working." He pivoted with a scraping click of his shiny leather shoes, and stalked away.

Lewis scurried after him, casting a worried glance at the statues he ran past on the way.

Gilroy led him down a narrow side hall with very few doors, mostly offices of some sort, until he reached a door labeled "JANITOR." Inside, one wall bore many sets of cover-alls and boots, and even boasted a box of disposable hair nets on the shelf above them. On the other side were wide carts stocked with mops, brooms, brushes, bottles of cleaning solution, and other cleaning implements.

The curator stroked his sagging, stubbly chin as he dispensed his instructions.
"You'll come straight in here when you arrive for your shift--you're expected to start work at exactly the time printed on your card here," Gilroy handed Lewis an actual punch-card with his name printed on the top, and the words EVENING SHIFT: 3:30-7:30. "So you might want to consider reporting in a few minutes early, just so your shift can begin right when it's supposed to. Anyway," Gilroy rubbed his hands over his brightly-colored vest, "You'll come in here, get on one of those cover-alls--you don't really need the boots unless things get really messy--grab a cart, and get to work. Let me show you what to do around the exhibits." Gilroy hardly let Lewis get a word in edgewise, because as soon as he finished speaking, the man was out the door again, and down the hall. "You're going to probably spend most of the time in Exhibit Hall G," he pointed to the only wing in the museum with an open door, "since the other halls haven't quite been filled yet... Although," he leaned in conspiratorially, "between the two of us, I do have a call in to some of the best art museums in the state, and a certain billionaire's estate has expressed interest in loaning me some of the pieces that once belonged to said billionaire." He winked at Lewis and let out a hearty chuckle.

Inside the exhibit hall, Lewis saw free-standing walls and display cases scattered throughout the room, as well as art pieces hanging on the walls of the room. One could navigate the maze of exhibits by walking a zig-zag path from one end of the room to the other.

"We don't want students to worry about touching the actual pieces of art," Gilroy stated. "So your duties will amount to sweeping the floors, cleaning up any trash left behind by the patrons, and using the spray to clean the glass on the display cases." Gilroy raised a finger and indicated the corner where the wall met the ceiling.

Lewis looked up and saw the gleaming, tennis-ball-sized shape hanging from the ceiling. "There are cameras?" he acknowledged what he figured the curator wanted him to notice.

Gilroy shrugged his round shoulders. "Of course; these are priceless works of art, we wouldn't want anybody trying to mess with them! No, what I was going to tell you, young man, is that the glass display cases are typically rigged to an alarm system, but during your shift, after you check in with the host at the front desk--either myself, or one of the other assistant curators--that system will be placed on hold for the duration of your shift, so that you can clean whatever you can in three hours." The elderly man wagged a finger in Lewis' face. "See that you do not abuse this privilege! Although your movements won't trigger any alarms, someone," he pointed to the cameras again, "will always be watching!"

Lewis nodded, but inwardly he felt the urge to roll his eyes at the constant assumption made by older adults that teenage students--especially boys--were constantly "up to something." While he could admit that most boys his age were, indeed, prone to playing tricks, he felt more than a little peeved that the curator would assume that he would only be willing to accept this job because he wanted to steal or mess with the art pieces and antiques on display.
"I can assure you, I'm just going to stick to my job," he replied to the older man.

Gilroy nodded and clapped Lewis on the back. "That's good to hear! I'll be looking forward to seeing how this space transforms with some regular cleaning. You'll find a checklist attached to the cart," he pointed to a faded clipboard hanging from a hook on the side of the cart, "with everything I'll be expecting you to do during your shift: where to clean, what products or tools to use, and so forth. Should be pretty straightforward, and you'll see the reimbursements and vouchers sent right to your student account."

"Sounds good, Mr. Gilroy," said Lewis.

The curator straightened his collar and fidgeted only a little. "One last thing," he said. "If you have any questions, my office is just down the hallway between Hall A and Hall B." He paused and regarded the young man keenly. "Do you have any questions for me just now?"

Lewis shook his head. "I think everything seems to be in order. I'd really like to get cleaning."

Gilroy beamed at this. "That's wonderful to hear! The last student on janitor duty didn't much care for the physicality of it." His lip curled a little in modest scorn. Shaking it off, he said, "Well, I have things to do, and so do you. Good luck, Lewis!"

The curator strode out of the room, and Lewis was left to examine the space alone.

While there were freestanding walls and display cases all around the room no bigger than a basketball court, Lewis noticed that there weren't a whole lot of art pieces. A lot of empty hooks and shelves with dust collected on it, with only a few oil paintings and sculptures. Lewis sighed and pulled out the broom, grateful for the amount of open space that allowed him to sweep and clean without running into things. A few people came in while he was sweeping the floors and dusting the shelves, but it didn't take anyone very long to see everything in the room there was to see, and out they went again. He didn't much mess with the artwork, except to brush it gently with a thick, soft cosmetic-type brush.

From there, Lewis moved on to sweeping and polishing the front hall till the tiled floor gleamed under the bright chandeliers. The old building creaked and groaned around him, but the general vibe he got from the atmosphere of Moulton House was of contemplative silence, a peaceful pensiveness. The wainscoting around the perimeter was lined with complex beveling, which Lewis found challenging to clean. In the end, he opted to use the microfiber rag to ensure that most of the surface looked clean, without having to carve into every single crevice on the panels.

Mr. Gilroy came out at 7:30 and surveyed the work that had been done. He nodded his approval and said, "Well, if you can work like this every shift, I think there is a good chance Moulton House will attract new local talent to feature!"

Lewis glowed with the praise. His first job, and he did well at it!

That elated feeling carried him all through signing out at Moulton House, down the stairs, and across the quadrangle to the food court, a bank of small restaurant fronts that could sell a limited selection of dishes in various ethnicities and themes, where the students could eat.

Lewis walked over to the pizzeria and dug out his voucher for the day: two slices and a medium soda. He chose a slice of pesto chicken and a slice of pepperoni sausage, and filled his cup with lemon-lime soda, and the smiling girl at the register promised that a server would bring his pizza piping hot to the table.

Lewis ambled over to where Quincy and Henry sat, each picking at their plate of food and not saying anything. Even Quincy's effervescent attitude of the afternoon seemed to have deflated quite considerably. Her uniform lacked its usual austere precision, even looking a bit rumpled in places and untucked on one side. She quietly shifted the filling of her chicken pot pie around, separating the veggie pieces into categories. Henry just sat with his chin in his hand, staring at the clump of noodles rotating around his fork.

"So," Lewis began slowly, doing his best to break the silence without absolutely shattering it, "how was everyone's first--"

"Horrible!" Quincy blurted before he could finish. She stuck out her lip in a pout. "Working at a library is so not as glamorous and idyllic as I thought it would be! There was a class of small children visiting today, and all they did was shout and run and pull books off the shelves, I thought I was going to just be re-shelving books in the children's section all day! Add onto that the number of questions random people asked me, like where's this book? Where's that book? Does this library have books on this peculiar subject? Like, how should I know? I barely started working there! That's what the catalog kiosk is for, right? A digital card catalog; just enter your search terms, and it will tell you if we have it in the system, and exactly where to find it!" She cupped her head in her hands with an exasperated moan. "I thought I was going to be more prepared for this--I was so wrong!"

Henry snorted. "Same here," he said. "Working in the grocery store is no picnic, either. I spent most of my day re-stocking the shelves, but I did get a bit of experience ringing up a few customers. Then one of the cashiers asked me to bag groceries for his customers, so guess what I ended up doing for the rest of the day?" He sighed. "We only had one incident where somebody broke a jar of pasta sauce. I'm just glad I didn't have to clean that up! I heard it splattered everywhere."

Jesse walked over with Lewis' pizza in one hand, and a hamburger and fries in the other. "Hey guys!" he exclaimed brightly. "How is everybody?"

"We were just filling in each other about our days," Quincy said grumpily. "So far Jesse and I have had a rough go of it--Lewis, how did your day go? Was it as crowded as our days were?"

Lewis bit off the end of the chicken pizza, and shrugged. "Not really. Moulton House may look big, but it's kind of got this empty feeling in there. I think they make a point to display local artists, and they might be between artists right now, so the place is pretty empty." He grinned. "That just makes it all the more easy to clean, I suppose."

"Lucky you!" Jesse chuckled. "I've been cleaning up spilled trays and drinks and bussing tables for hours now! I'm just glad things have quieted down, giving me space to think!"

Quincy pressed her lips in a demure grin. "So, we've established that out of all of us, Lewis has the most mundane job."

Lewis snorted. "Yeah, until someone joins our group who works in Browning City Hall, that is!"

"You never know what kind of shenanigans people try to pull in municipal buildings," Henry joked.

The four friends finished their meals and parted ways to their various student housing accommodations. Lewis kept his movements quiet as he slipped past three other rooms with their occupants winding down for the evening, until he reached his own room, with barely enough room for a closet, a bed, and a desk.
As he lay down in the bed, Quinn's observation resurfaced in his memory, "Lewis has the most mundane job..."

He only hoped that would prove to be the case. Mundane was nice. Mundane, and predictable--that was how Lewis preferred his first job in a new situation. Was that too much to ask?

<><><><><><><><>

Next >>>>>>>