A red-faced custodian named Duffy harped on and on about the gum hardener. “For one thing, it erodes the ozone layer, and for another, it makes this fuckin’ gum melt and soak deeper into the fiber of the carpet. Opposite of the very role for which it was intended, man. One piece of gum, fuck! One kid, thirty-two teeth, give or take, and one wad of gum equals twenty-five minutes of my time, which translates into almost nine dollars of the district’s money. One piece of gum! I could ignore it, let the rug go to shit, but I take pride. I take pride! For Chrissakes, why doesn’t somebody tell that jerkoff that fills up the vending machines to quit putting chewing gum in—huh? Or at least use a normal kind. I tried to talk to the man. I don’t know what you have to do with that guy. I can’t get through to him. Mastication of the South American chicle plant is against the law in Singapore, Harold, did you know that? I tell this guy that selling gum is against the law in Singapore! They got their shit squared away over there. I tell this to Vend-o-face, an’ he ain’t hearin’ it. He’s one of them passive-aggressive sons of bitches who likes to drive fifty in the passing lane or who will hang up an express line at the supermarket jacking around with a checkbook, buying lottery tickets, and asking questions when others are in a fuckin’ life-and-death hurry. Forgive my digression, but are you getting the picture? I never met anyone like him before; he’s just an absolute asshole. You know the character, John Waite from The Nigger of the Narcissus? That’s this guy. There’s just no other way to describe this human piece of shit.”

Hammermeister was so shocked by Duffy’s stream of invective that his face went pale. In Canada, a man such as Duffy would be fired on the spot. What gross insolence! That Duffy had the nerve to speak to him in this fashion—obviously, there were different rules of engagement going on. Detroit, shit, what a very strange energy inhabited the city where such scenes were commonplace. Harold was almost certain he could smell alcohol on this man’s breath. “John Waite?”

“Waite from The Nigger of the Narcissus. For God’s sake, you’re a college man, aren’t you? Read the book. Don’t teachers have to read in college?”

Another of the custodians chimed in. “Hey, the man is right. He knows what he’s talking about. This vending guy is Johnny Waite! He should be banned from the fuckin’ building.”