As I stumbled back to my native DeMatt, after a risque Mardi
Gras morning, I had an epiphany. During my lifelong tenure in
Catholic schools, it’s been drilled into my head that God is
everywhere. Nevertheless, a flash of inspiration from the Almighty
was a tad unexpected in the fifth floor bathroom.

Dormitory bathrooms breed germs on the weekend, but the scene
last Saturday was like something from 12 Monkeys. Paper towels were
strewn everywhere, our shower stall was covered with a mysterious
residue from a hole in the ceiling and the familiar smell of vomit
permeated the toilet area.

“God, what a mess,” I thought. And He agreed. Blessed is the
custodial staff of Saint Louis University; they shall be
appreciated.

If cleanliness is godliness, then my dorm room and I are on the
Metrolink to hell. Thankfully, a staff of guardian angels ensures
that my surroundings don’t suffer the same fate. When I leave my
room to begin the day’s classes, I tread on freshly waxed floors
and shower in a bathroom saturated by the sanitizing scent of
lemon. The stacks of pizza boxes and bottles of beer that fill our
trash room have all vanished, leaving three pristine garbage cans
in their wake. I have yet to duplicate this feat in my own personal
space, but I’m learning.

With its endless procession of Greek events and 21st birthday
celebrations, DeMatt residents and guests certainly know how to
party; cleaning up is the hard part. We litter our building with
beer cans and spill drinks in its halls. Virtually anything able to
fit through our windows lands on the roof of the former chapel.
Elevator chug-a-lugs conclude with stashing alcohol containers in
that convenient groove lining the upper part of the lift; by
midnight, a few dozen cans line the elevator ceiling.

These careless mistakes cause untold extra work for the men and
women assigned to fix them, but the custodial staff remains
overwhelmingly pleasant and considerate to the needs of students.
In my two years in DeMatt, I can’t recall one elevator ride shared
with a staff member in which he or she did not smile and benignly
inquire how classes were treating me. Little things, I know, but
they foster a sense of community that I cherish now and will
remember even more fondly later in life.

In an ideal world, the gentlemen of this campus would
demonstrate better aim when urinating–or at least lift up the
friggin’ seat. Drunks would relieve themselves in actual toilets
rather than trashcans, dryers or ice machines. Cookie tossers would
remember that, when seeing triple, you barf toward the middle.
Everyone would wear white-soled tennis shoes that never scuff
floors.

These things don’t happen in the real world, but our maintenance
staff still reports to work with a friendly disposition. I am
fortunate to have the resources to publicize my appreciation for
these men and women, but nothing says it better than a simple,
“Thank you.”

When you see the ground crews spreading mulch in the coming
weeks, compliment them for transforming this campus into a scenic,
Midtown oasis.

At the very least, thank them for removing the cigarette butts
you inevitably flicked behind bushes while transversing the Quad.
Should the chicken quesadilla you order in Fusz be particularly
splendid, thank the person who cooked it.

It’s common sense, but people do like to know that they’re
appreciated.

Jon Butler is a junior studying English and
communication.