I am the steward of 54 trashcans.
54 trashcans that will be empty before 5:00 a.m. every morning.
54 trashcans that reveal to me what you eat for lunch each day (a clementine, three granola bars, Wendy's chili).
I am the one who sprayed hepacide on your desk, phone, and doorknobs when I noticed piles of tissues in your trash.
I am the one who cleans that giant conference room table and wonders whether the fingerprints are actually new (have the chairs moved?) or if somehow my cleaning wasn't good enough yesterday.
I am the one who vacuumed the dandruff off your chair and wondered how the flakes got so big.
I am the one who prays you will not suffer from intestinal distress during your workday.
I have smiled when I saw your desk decorated for your birthday.
I have seen your family photos as well as the glossy magazine cut-outs of delicious looking food you posted in your cubicle (ice cream sundaes, cupcakes, fancy hot chocolate, why?)
I have nearly fallen asleep when I sat down under your desk to plug in my vacuum.
I am the morning shift.