This So Called (Native American) Life

Walt Whitman's voice barely breaks the sound of the primal wax recording. “Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes? / Pioneers! O pioneers!” Who knew that the eternal nature of a haunting voice could be as frail as wax? The distant sound is captured and bottled up unto the voice of an American past-life. Then static.

That voice—his voice—is our voice, and it is worn and faded as Levi jeans: as American as backyard barbecues, or suburban sprawl, or James Dean in a white shirt with slick-backed hair, or malt shops frequented by local tan-faced youths, or the awestruck believers of fireworks on a Fourth of July. My friends, I give you Americana.

As for Native Americana, I give you Jacob Black. My ancestors shake their head in exasperation.

But they sell "Team Jacob" t-shirts on the dusty roads leading to the Peace Pipes Casino.

Red-tailed Hawk soaring proud and signing out.

An Apology to GEOL 101

Of all the spirit animals so lovingly chosen for our crew, mine alone possesses an epithet (of sorts). I am not merely a pigeon (noble birds, to be sure), but specifically a wounded pigeon. I've always assumed that the pigeon in question has a broken wing or leg; something that inhibits movement in some way. People usually laugh when I tell them this. This is because, although wounded animals are not specifically funny, wounded pigeons are.

No one really likes pigeons. They're like mice with wings: contemptible, messy, disease ridden, prone to defecating in inconvenient places, and they frequently die in fairly stupid ways (re: flying into windows). Even the noise they make is boring. They don't caw, sing, or even squawk. They just say, "OOOOOO." Over and over again. But take this relatively bothersome bird and watch it flail for a bit. Just watch it. You'll laugh. You'll watch this dazed, awkward, rodentine little bird and you'll feel the smallest twinge of guilt and then you'll laugh. Because it's funny, dang it. And so I am not merely a pigeon, but a wounded one. Because when I screw up, it's funny.

Take, for example, an incident that occurred a few weeks ago. I was in charge of vacuuming classrooms on the bottom floor of the ESC, but was running late. Now, when I say that I was vacuuming, you must understand that I was not using a traditional vacuum cleaner. Such devices would be cumbersome, inconvenient, and slow if forced to travel from classroom to classroom, devouring dust and dirt all the while. No, we janitors use professional grade vacuums. You may remember seeing them in the movie Ghostbusters, only those ones shot lasers. Mine doesn't do that. It's just a backpack with a hose/pole attachment and an extension cord, which can at times be very cumbersome, inconvenient, and slow. When I walk around, I carry the coiled cord in my right hand and the pole in my left. Both hands being occupied, this can make little things like unlocking or opening doors inconvenient. This does factor somewhat into the story, but I digress.

So, having returned from an impromptu jaunt to the (spotless!) restroom, I raced into the classroom where I'd left by backpack and hastily donned my gear. As I said, I was running late and wanted to finish up as soon as possible lest I disturb those already in class. I rapidly swept my way through the room I was in (I believe it was N-132 if you're curious), coiled my cord, and fumbled my way out the door. It should also be noted that I was singing along with my mp3 player.

Because that's what I do.

So I'm at the door to the next room (possibly N-124, though I'd ask you not to quote me on that), and, after a glance at the glass aperture in the door made expressly for this purpose, I determine that the classroom is dark and thus vacant. Since the lights are off, I proceed with the awkward, floundering process of unlocking the door, a task which ideally requires three hands. Key in lock, pole and cord in tow if not under control, I swing open the darkened door accompanied by by a particularly loud and vibrant note of song (perhaps a trifle off-key).

The room's occupants, especially the professor presenting the slideshow, stare at me.

Pause a moment and savor that. Thrill in the sheer awkwardness of that moment, and picture me, eyes wide, frozen like a deer in the path of an oncoming semi. Revel at the thought of a song dying on my lips, and chuckle as I stand for the briefest of instants frozen in sheer . . . what? Terror? Embarrassment? Chagrin? Who can say? Pause and enjoy that. I'll wait.

Finally, after a span of time which might have been measured in aeons for all, I sputtered out an apology and backed my way out of the room. Were I to have gracefully and quietly taken my leave, perhaps the story would end there. But no. I am a wounded pigeon, and that means something.

Specifically, it means that my key got stuck in the door, I banged my pole on the door frame, my bulky backpack got stuck in between the door and the wall, and I almost tripped over my extension cord. If you've ever pushed a drum set down a flight of stairs, you will have a fairly clear idea of what it sounded like. Add to that the echoing laughter of a class full of college students, and you'll know exactly what it sounded like. I have never before nor since had such trouble getting that thrice-cursed machine out of a room, nor have I ever had such reason to do it so quickly. When I finally gained my freedom, I went as absolutely as far away from that room as I possibly could, my face red and my pride in shambles.

A week later, I requested that I be moved to another job. My boss did not object. Now I clean bathrooms. Definitely no potential for embarrassment there, right?

--Wounded Pigeon, over and out.

Second in Command

As you've viewed the spirit animals that comprise our crew, I'm sure you have wondered as to our personalities. Let me start with Wounded Pigeon. He is the most witty person I have ever met in my life. He never misses a beat, which is saying a lot for 5 in the morning. He is now my partner in the potty-mouth gang and we have a riot. As we went about our toilet-cleaning duties, Wounded Pigeon put forth the theory that every work environment must have individuals to fulfill certain roles. One of these roles being that of "The Weird One". Undoubtedly, Wounded Pigeon fills this position on our custodial crew. After all, he is the president of BYU's "nerd" club, so he claims and wears this title with surprising pride. With that said, I turned to Gazelle and asked, "Who would be 'the weird one' on the crew if Wounded Pigeon wasn't on the crew?" Without a nanosecond's worth of hesitation Gazelle said, "You." What? ME? The Weird One?!? I can say in all honesty that I have never been given that label before. At first I was a little befuddled as I tried to recreate the framework upon which I have created my own self-perception. As I somewhat irritably sounded my disdain of this new label, Wounded Pigeon promptly shut my dissent and told me that I should consider the label a compliment, because all that the label means is that in his absence, I would be the one to entertain the crew with my stories, personality, and general oddness. It took a while for that to marinate, but now that I've let is soak in and tenderize, I think that it is an honor to be second in command of "The Weird One" title. May I serve it well. I think...

Bright Lady

My favorite type of Eyring Encounter are what I like to call "cute-old-man" encounters. These are by no means creepy incidents, quite the opposite actually. Often, and for some reason, usually when I am cleaning entry windows, old men will cross my path and compliment my work. (Keep in mind folks that all I'm doing is squirting glass-cleaner onto smudged windows and wiping my a rag in an up-and-down-like motion.) But this is my theory: these sweet old gentlemen were raised in a much more polite society. Saying 'hello' to a perfect stranger was standard procedure. Complementing their work, nothing out of the ordinary. Paying adorable compliments to poor college students, their absolute delight. I have had many such encounters; Carl from Carpentry called me the "prettiest custodian in all of campus", Professor Johnston tells me that he appreciated my happiness, but my favorite, well I don't even know his name.

I was doing my daily washing of the south entrance doors (which frankly are by far the dirtiest of all ESC windows), squatting at the lower windows and this kind old gentleman walked up and this is the rapid-fire conversation that followed:

Gentleman: You are doing a great job!

Me: Oh, why thank you. I appreciate it.

Gent: What's your name?

Me: Kobie

Gent: How many years do you have left?

Me: roughly 2, we'll see.

Gent: Where are you from?

Me: Arizona

Gent: What are your future plans?

Me: I would like to go to law school?

Gent: Oh really? Where at?

Me: I'm not really sure yet. I'll definitely apply here at BYU, Arizona State, back East somewhere.

Gent: Well thank you for making this world a brighter place Kobie. Not only because you clean these windows so well and actually make this place brighter, but because you yourself are a bright person. You brighten this world. You are a bright lady.

It was the most touching Encounter I have had yet. I wish we could all be like this, and see the brightness in others, even if they are just simple, lowly custodians. It made a huge impact on my life.

Spirit Animals

So for a multitude of reasons, and then again, for absolutely no reason at all, the crew has assigned spirit guide animals to each individual. For privacy's sake, and the hilarity of this blog, all ESC custodial personnel will be named only by their unique animal. Weeks of thought and deliberation have gone into the following list. It has been a topic at every single morning meeting for at least the past two, possibly three weeks. Yes, this is how we spend our mornings, in the noble pursuit of finding which animal in this great universe identifies each individual. Factors such as physical appearance, skills and abilities, personality, family heritage, and early-morning functionality were all taken into consideration for this most important rite of passage of early morning custodial adventures.

Raccoon-- this is me! (You already know who I am, so why hide my awesome spirit animal?!)


Jack Rabbit


Gazelle


Phoenix


Lion


Bull


Bald Eagle


Red-tailed Hawk


Wounded Pigeon


Grizzly Bear


Sea Turtle


Fox


I'm trying to get everyone to blog a little bit about themselves and their spirit animals. Profiles on the crew to come soon!

Early Morning Custodial: BYU's hidden treasure

I love attending Brigham Young University. True, we are known for some pretty peculiar things, but that makes the Y all that more endearing. We have the Honor Code that kicks the boys out of the girls’ apartments and the girls out boys’ apartments at midnight (with the exception of Friday, which any Cougar will quickly and zealously tell you, the curfew is 1:30 a.m. I know, awesome, right?). We have the Creamery on 9^th which provides the hungry freshmen, and the occasional upper classman and alumni, with endless supplies of burgers, ice cream, cracked-pepper fries, ice cream, brownies, ice cream, milk, and did I mention Ice Cream??? And of course, we have Jimmer. Need I really say more about the awesomeness that is BYU? Well in fact, I believe I do. There is a secret among the student body that most of the world is grossly unaware, but we take much pride in.

Early morning custodial.

It is almost a rite of passage at BYU to, at one time or another, brave the sleepless nights for work at 5 a.m. every day. When I started at BYU almost 2 years ago, I promised myself I would NEVER EVER EVER EVER work early morning custodial. My academic pursuits were far too important to risk them to sleepy eyes that would naturally be the consequence of working at such an unnatural hour. However, after semesters of falling asleep in class regardless of my work schedule and meeting the fabulous people that comprise the Eyring Science Center’s early morning custodial crew, I thought, for the summer at least, I could give it a shot. So let me introduce you a bit more to the ESC and the crew and the purpose of this hopefully enlightening, heartening, and down-right funny account of our encounters.

The Eyring Science Center (ESC) is home to the Physics and Astronomy, Geology, Food Science and Nutrition, and Neuroscience departments. Personally, I think it’s one of the coolest buildings on campus. Now at 5 a.m. funny things happen, mostly due to our inability to think, speak, walk, open doors, or pretty much anything else. Combine that with the odd, awkward, hilarious and puzzling people we meet or situations we find ourselves in, and you get what I like to call, Eyring Encounters. There have been just a few too many such incidents now to not record them in the eternal archives of social media. The crew and I will post at least one Eyring Encounter each week, usually Thursday night, so keep following us, and hopefully we’ll provide you with some funnies.