I always hear people say that women love a man in uniform. BOGUS! I wear a uniform to work everyday and not once has it paid off. OK...so that's not entirely true; there was this one time that I ended up getting freaky with a more mature woman.

I'm a custodian at a Junior High School and I work the first shift, so I'm there from 5 A.M till 2 P.M. You're probably questioning how it is that a custodian would get excited about, let alone be a part of, Spring Break. Let me answer that by saying I'm the youngest custodian in the building (because of which I'm constantly forced to prove myself to the older, more cynical, custodians) and I requested the week off. You thick-skulled folks out there are wondering why I refer to myself and my co-workers as custodians and not as janitors.
Simple. The word janitor implies that I perform the action of "janit"ing. When you tell me exactly what I "janit," then, and only then, will I refer to myself as a janitor. Idiots.
Enough technicalities though; the proper term for my job-or its description-aren't the point of this tale.

It was a few months ago, Taco Day to be specific, and I was throwing sawdust on some fresh vomit. Right as I was about to mop it all up I saw the super cute Spanish teacher walking my way, so I winked at her and said, "Como esta, Mama?"
She wasn't having it and got real snippy, asking things like, "Is it true you've been buying cigarettes for the eighth graders?"
I told her straight up, I said, "Listen, Doll. Those kids are what, fourteen years old? They were bound to start smoking anyways. All I'm doing is making life easier for them."
She was speechless and, I gotta tell you, it felt great to shut her up. Some people are just so ignorant, ya know?
I went back to vomit duty wheeling that yellow bucket full of puke, sawdust, and dirty water into the cafeteria kitchen. One of the lunch ladies, Linda, was still there cleaning up the remnants of Taco Day. She greeted me with a "How's it going, Sailor?"
What an ego booster!
I popped the collar of my orange jumpsuit, cocked my head, cut her a sly look, and said, "A lot better now. How's it cookin, Linda?" (I threw in that cookin part so she'd know that I knew a little something about her. Impress her real good.)
She responded by beckoning me with her pointer finger so I let the broom fall where it was and walked over to her, slowly, not letting her see how excited I really was. Things got steamy and we started slow dancing while "Love Of A Lifetime," by Firehouse, played on the radio. I was about to kiss her when I had the strange feeling of being watched. I turned around to see a crowd of kids pouring into the kitchen, staring, pointing, and laughing. In all the excitement neither Linda nor I heard the bell ring, announcing the end of school. We just danced and danced while they just watched and watched.
To this day none of the teachers acknowledge my presence, and it was a few days before the other custodians would talk to me again, and I guess you want to laugh too because I almost made out with Linda The Lunchlady; but you know what? Everyday at lunch when I saunter through the line Linda greets me with a smile and I ALWAYS get seconds.
Top that!