BJ leaves his mark

Davros Fermanian had the good fortune of working when every school had a head custodian.

When I went out far into the countryside to meet him for the first time, he was standing on the steps waiting for me.

It was Sunday afternoon.

He looked me up and down and said, “So, you’re the new principal, eh?” I replied in the affirmative.

Then, he showed me into the school and gave me a tour. He pointed out the spotless condition of the school.

I swear I could see my face in the floor looking back at me.

As we walked Davros briefed me on the rules. He showed me the boot rooms where the kids put on their inside shoes. I learned where the all the garbage cans were and exactly where they had to be placed.

I was instructed on the frequency of when chalk board ledges would be cleaned and how no one was to use any washroom before 8:15 a.m.

The list went on and on. I received my education without protest.

Davros had been the custodian at this school for the last 20 years, so he had seen many principals come and go.

I was probably just another ladder climber in his estimation, doing my time in a small, rural school then heading for the big time.

We ended our tour in the new gymnasium that had just been completed for the Junior Secondary students. The floor, I was told, had six coats of lacquer over newly painted lines.

I could see my face again amidst the deep, rich grain of the hardwood floor.

Davros stopped abruptly and pointed down. “Look!” he roared.

There between us was a long black mark made by someone’s running shoe.

I was terrified it had been me that had scuffed the floor.

“This cannot happen!” he exhorted.

I agreed.

In my mind, I got down on my knees and cleaned the mark off with my bare hands.

I came to my senses, but somehow I couldn’t get rid of the notion that it was my job to clean it up, not his.

Then, he stepped over the mark and scuffed it off with the bottom of his shoe. I was amazed at how easy that was.

A tiny part of me hoped to see another black mark so I could try it.

I assured Davros I would do everything in my power to help him keep his school as pristine as humanly possible. I don’t think he really believed me, but I was on his side. I was duly impressed with his sense of ownership.

We parted company in the main hall by the office. Davros walked down the hall, dusting as he went. I went outside to get my dog out of the car; he needed a quick run before we started our trek home.

BJ was an American cocker spaniel. I have to say that, as much as I loved BJ, he was the most dim-witted dog on the planet. Our doorbell would ring, for example, and BJ, like any other dog, would start barking.

I would answer the door and BJ would run right by the potential intruder down the road, barking his head off.

I opened the door and BJ flew out of the car, did a quick lap around the parking lot, then ran up the stairs and sat in front of the school doors.

“BJ, c’mere!” I yelled. He sat, wagging his tail.

“You don’t want to see my new school,” I said as I attached his leash.

He whined. This was strange. I thought, “I can’t possibly let BJ in here with Davros around. He’d kill me.”

I looked around and realized that there was no other car in the parking lot. Had there been one before? I couldn’t remember.

“OK, let’s go in and take a look.” I unlocked the door.

The leash slid through my hands as BJ raced in. I didn’t have a chance to stop him. He made a b-line for the centre of the gym, stopped, and squatted.

I looked on in horror. “BJ, what the hell are you doing!?” I shrieked.

BJ had left his mark. He let out a loud bark as he looked passed me. I turned and saw Davros standing in the doorway with his hands firmly placed on his hips.

I have no doubt that Davros thoroughly enjoyed watching me clean up the mess.

This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.