Sex was something for the next lifetime. It was tough learning the new job, but since he lived alone in a tiny apartment and required little sleep, Hammermeister was able to throw himself into his work, body and soul. He longed to get out of this rough-and-tumble high school and into the cozy air-conditioned district office building with the two-hour lunches, plush carpets, and countless refinements and amenities as soon as possible. He saw himself there. And sex was for then. He was a dervish, and he was whirling this year. Things were poppin’. There was suddenly so much to do. He had forgotten almost entirely about the janitors.

Then one day the activity director received a shipment of folding chairs for a district-wide choir recital slated for the gymnasium, and of the thirteen custodians in the school, only four were on hand after school to unload the chairs and get the gym whipped into shape. The activity director was highly agitated, and not realizing how little real clout the man actually had, Hammermeister became hysterical as well. When Harold saw the head custodian, he demanded to know where all of the other janitors were.

Mike was either in his fool-in-paradise mood—or “high.” He stood before Harold and scratched his head for a moment. Well, three custodians were out sick and no subs were available. There were the two who worked graveyard: somebody or other had driven off to pick up a prescription, yet another had not acknowledged the “all call,” and finally, still another, the very one who worked the gym area, did not report to work until five. Hammermeister listened to this, all the while his headache picking up steam and mutating into a kind of epileptoid craziness. Still, he managed to maintain his composure, and said, “I want that man in at two like all the swing-shift people, have you got that?”

Later that afternoon this very janitor, Duffy, walked into Hammermeister’s office and caught him writing notes on his thesis. “Can’t you knock?” Hammermeister asked. Duffy, who was red with anger, made a perfunctory apology. Hammermeister saw Lulu stir in her glass box. Duffy’s eyes followed her movement.

“Shit, man, a bug! Weird! Goddammit!”

“It’s a spider, Mr. Duffy. Tarantula. Now what can I do for you?” Tap, tap, tap.

Duffy nervously stroked his mustache and short beard. He looked at the spider and then back at Hammermeister. “Mike told me you changed my hours.”

“That’s right, Duffy. Did he tell you why?” Tap, tap.

“He said something about unloading chairs for the concert. Only four guys were here or something.”

“Yes, exactly. The next time this kind of thing happens there will be five, minimum.” Tap.