Unlike most days (when I go where the good-deed flow takes me), today I had a plan. Not much of a plan, mind you, but a plan nonetheless.
The office I’ve been working in for the last few days has a very organized kitchen maintenance system. They make up a duty roster whereby each employee takes a week-long turn at loading and unloading the dishwasher, washing any dishes in the sink and general cleanup.
(I have a feeling you know where I’m going with this.)
My plan was to quietly take care of this duty so the assigned person wouldn’t have to. I wanted to do this post-lunch, when the kitchen tends to be a frat-house mess missing only John Belushi in a toga.
The tricky part about this plan was that I wanted to undertake it anonymously. Not only because it defeats the good-deed purpose if everyone walks by and gives you a pat on the back (or maybe a raise) for helping out. But also because I might get a reputation as: a) a brown-noser; b) a budinski; or, worse yet, c) a clean freak.
Trouble is, every time I ventured into the kitchen, it either looked spotless or there was a crowd of people taking a tea or coffee break — and being irritatingly neat about it.
But I persevered (although I’m sure my boss now thinks I’ve taken up smoking after the number of times I went for a “break”).
About 4 p.m., the coast was clear but the sink was not so I jumped at the chance and did the washing up. Someone did come in just as I was wiping the counter but I don’t think my cover was blown. I put my dishpan hands in my pocket and kept on walking.