The Wet Floor

A group of three smartly dressed young men exited the office building lobby. Nan had seen them before, but the staff were usually long gone when she arrived to start her cleaning shift, and she had no idea which office they worked in. They left a trail of dirty footprints across the newly mopped marble, oblivious to the wet floor signs. Gritting her teeth, Nan wrung out her mop and started again. None of them glanced in her direction, much less apologized. Glaring after them as she finished mopping, she stretched to relieve her aching back. She parked her heavy cart in the storage room, pulled off her work overall and put on her coat and scarf. Her granddaughter Jasmine was parked outside and Nan hated to keep her waiting.

“Thanks for coming to get me, hon,” she said, shivering in the frosty night air.

“Of course, Gran. It’s too cold for you to be standing outside waiting for the bus,” Jasmine said, pulling out into traffic. “How was work?”

Nan snorted.

“Hah. I’d like to give those young men a piece of my mind, or a good whack with my mop. They wear suits that probably cost a year of my paycheck and think they’re God’s gift to the universe. Little snots who’ve never had to get their hands dirty. Tramping all over my clean floor without a second thought.”

“Ah, the bros,” said Jasmine, laughing, as she parked outside Nan’s building. “Hamilton Larson is a prestigious investment company, so you’re going to find a fair share of them there. I wish you didn’t still have to work, Gran.”

“I’ve got to stretch my pension somehow, and I’m too old to take up crime,” said Nan, smiling. She turned up her coat collar against the icy wind as she clambered out of the car, blowing Jasmine a kiss.

“Thanks, sweetie. See you soon.”

Her cat Horace, a plump tabby, met her at the door, meowing reproachfully.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Nan. “Cool your jets. I’ll feed you in a moment.”

She had rescued Horace off the street as a half-starved kitten several years before and he had never stopped wondering where his next meal was coming from. She filled his bowl and put a plate of leftovers in the microwave for herself, continuing the conversation as she waited.

“Horace, there’s something strange going on,” she said, sitting down at the kitchen table to eat. “What were those young men doing there so late? I’d wager they’re up to something.”

Horace stalked into the living room, leapt onto the couch and began to clean his nether regions. Nan washed her plate and settled down beside him, turning the television on to watch the news. As tended to happen, she began to nod off after a few moments, only catching intermittent snatches of the broadcast …FBI investigation… allegations of fraud…financial crime…Hamilton Larson.

“I give up, Horace,” she said, yawning and switching off the television. “Time for bed.”

A couple of days later, she was back at work as usual. The office lobby was deserted and dim as darkness fell outside. Nan hummed a Broadway tune as she swung her mop, absorbed in her task She stood back to admire the floor for a moment. It certainly looked nice when not adorned with muddy footprints. The lobby was several stories high with impressive, tiled columns and the shiny floor set off the scene. It might be humble work, but there was satisfaction in doing it well. Trundling off with her cart, Nan was almost at the storage room when she heard the soft ding of the elevator bell and the swish of the door opening.

“Not again,” she muttered to herself, and turned, prepared to do battle. She stopped in her tracks as she saw the same three young men as on the previous occasion emerge from the elevator, whispering and glancing around furtively. Suddenly a couple of dark-clad figures wearing balaclavas stepped out from behind the columns. They advanced silently on the young men who froze like deer in headlights. Nan stared in horror. This was like a bad action movie. She had often complained about older ladies being invisible but decided not to test this theory. Stifling a squeak of fear, she ducked down behind her cart as quickly as her arthritic knees allowed. She heard pleading voices, followed by thuds, groans and yelps, then finally the clunk of the big glass entrance doors closing. Nan peered around the cart just in time to see the two dark figures exit the building and merge into the night. With trembling fingers, she fumbled in her overall pocket for her phone and dialed emergency services. Her mouth was so dry that she had trouble speaking but she managed to croak out directions.

She got creakily to her feet. There was no sign of the masked intruders. She cautiously approached the still forms on the floor. To her relief, all of them were breathing. One moaned and stirred. Nan anxiously felt for his pulse, one of the few things she remembered from a long ago first aid class. It was strong and steady. He stared at her blearily, peering through the puffy slits of two black eyes.

“Do I know you?” he mumbled through bloody lips.

“You should,” said Nan tartly. “Seeing as how you keep messing up my clean floor. Most inconsiderate. Mind, I’m not saying you deserved this.”

She gently wiped his mouth with a clean rag. The young man slowly sat up and groaned, clutching his head. He and Nan both flinched as red and blue flashing lights suddenly flickered around them and the piercing wail of sirens filled the air. The glass entrance doors opened, letting in a blast of cold air as uniformed police and medics clattered in. A familiar voice broke through the hubbub.

“Gran! Gran! Are you okay?”

Nan fell into Jasmine’s embrace.

“I was almost here when all these police cars and ambulances started zooming past. It scared the wits out of me when I realized they were coming to this building. I had to park three blocks away,” Jasmine said, trembling and breathless.

“Ma’am, we’ll need a statement from you,” said a police officer, gently steering Nan towards a chair. “Then we’ll take you home.”

“Jasmine, can you go to the house and feed Horace, please,” said Nan. “He’ll be wondering where I am.”

“You spoil that fleabag,” Jasmine said, with a mock grimace as she left.

It was late when Nan finally returned home. Despite her exhaustion, she noticed her neighbors’ curtains twitching as she exited the police car. At least the old coots would have something to gossip about for days, she thought, grinning. Jasmine rushed to help her with her coat as she entered her apartment.

“I’ve heated some soup and rolls for you, Gran,” she said, bustling around the kitchen. Nan suddenly realized that she was famished and ate with relish. She sat down beside Horace on the couch. He opened one eye, twitched his tail, and promptly went back to sleep. Jasmine brought two small glasses of brandy.

“I found your medicinal supply. At least we have a good excuse to have one,” she said. “Cheers. Now tell me what that was all about.”

“One of those young men has a big gambling problem. He and his buddies were trying to come up with a scheme to embezzle money from the company or do insider trading or something to pay his debts. That’s why they were sneaking into the office after hours. Unfortunately for them, the loan shark sent his goons with a friendly reminder first.”

“I’m just glad they didn’t notice you,” Jasmine said, shuddering. “Can I stay the night, Gran? I’m beat.”

“Of course,” said Nan. “It would be nice to have some company besides Horace. This has been more excitement than I’m used to.”

She gently pushed Horace off the couch and pulled it out.

“You’ll find all the bedding in the closet over there.”

Nan woke late the following morning, a very unusual occurrence. Yawning, she made her way to the kitchen. Jasmine was sitting on the couch watching television.

“Hi, Gran. There’s coffee and orange juice and some fresh doughnuts from the bakery. Relax and enjoy because you won’t be going to work today.”

“What do you mean?” said Nan, frowning as she sat down with a mug of coffee.

“Look,” said Jasmine through a mouthful of doughnut, gesturing at the screen. A reporter was standing outside the Hamilton Larson office building, a serious expression on his face.

“There have been rumors about Hamilton Larson’s solvency lately, but no one expected such a sudden and total collapse,” he intoned, gesturing toward the employees streaming out of the building behind him carrying boxes and laptops. “There will be widespread financial ramifications from the demise of such a storied company…”

“Do you think this has anything to do with what happened last night?” asked Jasmine.

Nan shook her head.

“No. However important they thought they were, those youngsters were at the bottom of the food chain. I need to get my things from my locker before they close the building. Can you take me over there, please?”

Jasmine dropped Nan off near the building, unable to park due to all the media and police vehicles.

“I’ll circle the block, Gran,” she said. “Hurry, please.”

Nan gamely struggled through the crowds exiting the building like a salmon trying to swim upstream and made her way to her locker. Throwing her few items into a bag, she turned to leave, only to get caught in the throng filing out through the lobby. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find herself looking into the battered face of the young man from the night before.

“I’m sorry for messing up your floor,” he said, wincing as he tried to smile. He was carrying a large cardboard box. “I was trying to help a friend out of a bind. It never occurred to me that things could go wrong. Now this."

“Maybe this is your wake-up call,” said Nan. “Find some different friends for a start and try to be more considerate of others.”

“You’re right,” he said, with a sigh. “In a way, I’m glad that those guys jumped us. It meant we never got the chance to do anything stupid. Now I’m going to have to apply for jobs looking like this.”

“The cleaning agency always needs help,” said Nan, smiling mischievously. “They’re not too particular about looks. There’s my granddaughter. I’d better run. Good luck.”

She waved as she hurried off to meet Jasmine.