“Where are you going?” he asked me. “The galley is this way.”
I tried to slip away, but something in his crooked-toothed smile made me feel at ease. “Honestly,” I said, “the galley intimidates me.”
“Me too,” he responded. “Let’s board it together.”
As we ate pizza, I told him about the dildo incident.
“Oh, really?” he replied. “I found a container filled with teeth from a roll of film.”
Soon, I learned that trash could provide valuable items alongside oddities. I found a brand new cashmere shirt with the tags still on and a George Foreman grill for making quesadillas at night. Kevin gave me a pair of salvaged headphones to replace the ones I had dropped in the toilet.
I began running to recycling centers every morning, scavenging through the contents. Later, us janitors would huddle together in our supply closet office, bonding over the grotesque nature of our work, amidst bottles of bleach, floor wax, and industrial scrubbers.
Unlike my colleagues, I had isolated myself from the adventure and wonders that surrounded us, too overwhelmed by the pain I was trying to escape from. But in an isolated research station, with a population no larger than an average high school, you can only hide for so long. Time passed as I worked, ate, played, showered, and slept alongside such weird and wonderful people. My fellow janitors seemed to appreciate me, which, of course, made me skeptical. Sooner or later, they would discover how unworthy I was of their affection.
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