Warming of the Cold Universe

        The hallway’s cold and distant glow had always, in the thirty years he had worked there, pierced Michael’s mind in such a way that reminded him of outer space. The black marble floor had specks of white and gray scattered sporadically and distantly apart, onto which the low-light from the light fixtures set into the ceiling shined their reduced night-time glow onto the floor. The light of the moon coming from nearly indistinguishable places shone and reminded Michael of the dark and cold universe. However, as Michael finished his shift for the night, he felt far from drifting away alone among the stars and frozen planets.
Michael Kohlhaas started his shift at four-thirty two and twenty-four seconds, which was a little later than usual, but would still allow him to finish his duties with plenty of time for the other portion of his night. Michael got the job when he was 23, after completing college and earning his masters in history. He intended it to be a temporary job, one that would hold him over until he could figure out the exact path he wished to take in life. He hadn’t envisioned that the path would have involved staying as the second-shift custodian for the House of Representatives. He had been interested in politics in school, and the process of how the government works, and although he wished to see its day-to-day operations firsthand, he had no desire to become a part of the “tornado,” as a professor had once described the political process. So he thought becoming a custodian there would let him be close enough to the action without having to wade through the politics, becoming more of a “storm chaser” chasing the tornado than being struck by it. That was the way he thought of it at the time.
          For the most part that belief held. Perhaps nostalgia was the reason he was late, but he was certainly feeling nostalgic as he starts down the still-bright hallway with his cleaning cart. On his way to clean the offices of the Congressmen, he has in the back of his mind thoughts of when he was first working there. He recalls to mind one of the first Congressmen he met, Anders, new to Congress at the time. It was he who had made the job enjoyable. He had just been a pleasant guy, always talking to him at the end of the day as their paths crossed, and always with humorous, engaging conversation. Now, many years later, he was still a Congressman with a pleasant demeanor. Michael rounds the corner and sees his old friend.
      “Hello Anders,” Michael says, “I was just thinking of you. I was wondering if you’d still be in your office appropriating government utility towards your own… opulent candor and gratification.” After a hearty laugh the congressman replied, “Well, I think you’ve been employed here altogether too long. I do not merely throw myself to my own whims, old friend, but I attend to the desires of the people I represent… I cannot help it if they are the ones who desire me to feel that I represent them as luxurious. Besides, you’re a bit late today; I’ve just left my office. I’ve got to hurry home.”
“Unforgivable, heaven will take note,” Michael paused, “Ah, just as well. I wouldn’t want you bothering me while I work,” Michael responded with a chuckle. His old friend did likewise, gave him a familiar nod as was customary and walked down the hallway towards the exit. “It is just as well,” Michael thought, “I’ve a good amount of work to get done and the sooner I get to it, the less I have to worry about catching up.”
    With that, Michael entered the office of his long standing friend. He realized long ago that this was the ideal time for his own work, right as people are leaving, but before everyone is gone. This way people wouldn’t wonder why he lingers in an office for a bit longer. They would simply just assume some other people are in that office and Michael just has to clean around them. They don’t bother to stick around to see if there really was anyone else in there with him, they all have warm dinners and loving families, or at least some reason to get out of that office. Besides, everyone knows Michael. He’s the janitor who’s been around for years. None of them would ever suspect.
    Now it’s not as if Michael does anything to undermine the basic principles of morality. Maybe he crosses the border of being ethical, but who in that building hasn’t? At least that’s what Michael reasoned. At first he argued that he was a citizen and had a right to his say, that what he did was best for everyone. But as he realized what he did was done while the Congressmen were out having dinner with the lobbyists, he felt that he really was just getting his fair share of democracy. Certainly the law cries out Mercy! And he would not be one to stand in the way. Haste still pays haste and leisure answers leisure; and measure still for measure, after all.
     Michael walks into the large, warm, mahogany office which seems to appeal to those in Congress. His actions come as second nature. He pushes the cart in, strides over to the small metal wastebasket, empties it, and proceeds to do half of his cleaning for that office. Since he knows that his old friend is gone for the day, he knows that his will be the office to “introduce” new legislation into. Later on he will slip a memo in this office, a note from one of the Congressmen’s staff to another’s in that office, all in support of the legislation his dear old friend so considerately sponsored.
     Michael does not create wild and outlandish legislation. He has been tempted to put into a bill going for a vote on the floor that red automobiles should be illegal, not because he doesn’t like them, but simply because he can. He has put into bills, early in his career, items like national ice cream day, which died within another bill, but discontinued the practice knowing that it does little good for people.
Tonight, Michael’s busy old friend will draft, finalize, send to committee, and push out of committee legislation attached to another so that the new legislation gets hidden and then passed into law. On the agenda for tonight’s meeting, Michael included a minor change to insurance industry regulations, one that will be nearly insignificant, especially in the short term. But this change will allow for those who had cancer earlier in life to obtain better life insurance. If he gets enough time tonight, he plans on sending another bill through his political process. His next bill will be to set a definition to what “a lifetime” means, ending the definition with, “not exceeding one-hundred twenty years.” Michael knows which political players to set in motion, which will vote for it, who should sponsor it, what bill to attach it to the end of.
     As Michael nears the end of his old friend’s legislation, he thinks to himself, “I should put that new bill out soon. America can’t have people trying to live forever. It’s just not natural. It’ll get people to realize they don’t have forever, and they just shouldn’t waste their time pursuing eternity. Perhaps next Tuesday would be a better day for it though…” His thought trailing off as he sweeps clean any contaminant which corrupts the room, finishing his civic duty.

He walks out of his old friend’s office and finishes cleaning the rest of Congress, carefully placing his memos and notes. As he finishes the last office, he steps into the now dark hallway that reminds him so much of the vast universe. He does not feel alone. He controls the universe, those hallways, the vast expanse of America. “I am the Congressional custodian,” he thinks, “and I alone know where the light switch is. I alone can bring a new light to America through these dimly lit and distant hallways.”