Couples Make Noise

Wall of Secrets, Devon Butler

One summer, strapped for cash, I applied to work through the local university. Being so late in the season, most jobs were filled, but I found work as a cleaner in the athletic building. The job was fairly unsavoury, considering how many people work out and use the facilities in the summer, but the pay was good and the work was easy. The main part of my job was scrubbing and mopping the floors in the showers; since it was done at night, it was quiet and I could go about my job alone.

One night while I was just about to start mopping the shower floors, a soft feminine moan emanated from one of the shower cubicles. I was warned about this when I was hired. It’s generally known and accepted that students love to have sex, especially in the showers; my employer explained that I should try and tell guilty couples off if I experienced it. I personally don’t mind, so I set up my mop and continued to listen with a lewd sense of humour.

They’re really going at it now. The moaning has turned to outright animalistic love noises. I continue to listen, hidden from the view, mopping at a steady pace. I’m slightly aroused, but for the sake of my work I hold my desires inside. Finally, after some more grunting and moaning, they finish. From my position in one of the cubicles I can hear the couple running and giggling out of the bathroom. I continue to mop the floor at a steady pace, taking extra special care to watch for the cubicle where the couple made love.

It’s Tuesday, a week later, and I’m about to start my shift; I grab my supplies and walk into the showers. I hear the same moaning that I heard the week before; it appears that this couple have some kind of weekly love-in here. It continues on, as it did before, and while I’m in another cubicle mopping, I hear it speed up and finish with the giggling and the running. I continue to mop the floor at a nice pace, watching out for unsightly floor messes.

The next day, waiting for the bus to go to the university, I notice a good looking female student standing by herself. I strike up a conversation because she’s holding one of my favourite books and we hit it off, talking of authors that we have read and new CDs we have bought. There’s something familiar about her voice that draws me to her, as well as her inherent intelligence and soft-spoken demeanor. It seems to be going quite well and, as I haven’t had good female company in a while, I ask to see her again. She smiles at me but declines, saying that although I’m quite nice, she has a boyfriend. My stomach turns, as I honestly thought there was a spark, but such is the life of a janitor. We bid farewell and I leave to the athletic building to set up my cleaning supplies.

The next Tuesday rolls around and I’m heading to the showers, about twenty minutes early this time. I’m about to walk around the corner of the hallway towards the bathroom door when I see the noisy couple walking in towards the showers, holding hands. The male looks like a regular university blockhead, but I catch a good glimpse of the female’s face and, oh Lord Almighty, it’s the girl from the bus. That’s why her voice seemed so familiar! I’d heard her before, I knew her, but only in the most intimate language. I quietly follow them into the showers and hide in the cubicle next to theirs. I hear them begin to go at it and there’s such a strong drive in my head that I stay and listen. However, the more I listen, the more the frustration grows inside me.

Why should I have to clean up their mess every Tuesday? Don’t they have any shame? This is a public area and now their pubic hair is my responsibility. In the end, I leave and let them finish their business. I go to my janitor’s closet and grab my supplies for the night’s work.

Another week of dreary cleaning continues, and it’s Tuesday again. I decide to go in early to work and get a head start. Half an hour before my shift begins, I grab some of the ammonia from the cleaning closet and quickly run through all the shower cubicles, dumping the solution on the floors. I head back to the cleaning closet and, just like clockwork, the happy couple comes prancing in to the washroom. I wait outside with my supplies. I wait there for only two minutes when the couple comes rushing out. The female looks extremely upset and, the male, ready for a fight. “I need to wash my feet, they’re burning!” The girl cries out. The man leads her away and they disappear into the bathroom across the hall. I grab my supplies and start the shower clean up. I mop at a steady pace, uninterrupted by the stench of ammonia cleansing the floor.