Janitors hate me.

On Thursday nights, both Andy and I work in a writing lab until 11, and I drive us home. This Thursday, I got out a little earlier than he did, so I decided to lock up and wait outside in the hallway, where I was reading The Ithacan. The janitor was driving his little floor-washer car thing around, going up and down the hallway. And I had a Diet Coke.

We all know how I am not the most graceful of women. Well. I eventually decided to go over to Smiddy, where Andy was working, because I was kind of tired of waiting. I closed the paper, picked up my sweatshirt, and watched in horror as my Coke spilled all over the floor and bench.

I tried to pick it up before the whole bottle was on the floor, and had to cap it immediately as foam was still pouring out the top. So here I am, covered in cola, and I can hear the janitor in his motorized mop coming my way. It took me less than a second to decide what to do.

As I was speedwalking down the hall, I looked for the nearest exit since I wanted to get out quickly. Of course I picked the one that was encased in glass and led to Emerald City (the new business building, if you'll recall). I was trapped -- could I make it out the door and down the hall before the janitor got there?

I booked it. I had to go up the stairs toward the bursar's office, out the door leading to the music school. I went the complete opposite way of my car just to avoid the janitor. Who probably hates me.