Survival in the Glittering Storm

I’m currently working as a custodian for The Denver School of the Arts. I’ve been chronicling my experiences through social media and this blog post. I put a lot of my own complaints and frustrations down, primarily to accurately portray my true experiences. No filter. There are good days of course. One day, this could be sort of a memoir.

I refer to myself as The Teal Fairy because this is a character that I’ve created. I hope to one day write about The Teal Fairy going back to school to protect those that have the potential to grow and flourish. Schools need more fairies over firearms to ensure the safety of the youth. I also use The Teal Fairy persona as my way of expressing myself creatively outside of the written word.

Thank you for joining me on this journey!

Day Five Hundred & Twenty-four: 1/13/2025

It was supposed to be a standard day. Everyone was in, no one had called out sick or taken a vacation, and I could finally just focus on my responsibilities. For once, I wasn’t juggling someone else’s duties on top of my own. It was the kind of day where you think, Maybe, just maybe, I’ll make it through without incident.

Then life, or in this case, misplaced backpacks and an entitled parent had other plans.

Let me set the scene: It was last Friday. I was sweeping the hallways after the students had left, and as usual, the space was cluttered. Backpacks and various items had been left behind like breadcrumbs for chaos. Three particularly obtrusive backpacks were smack in the middle of my workspace, so I moved them into the teacher’s pod. It’s not rocket science: a hallway isn’t a storage space.

Hours passed. By the time anyone noticed the missing backpacks, I was knee-deep in cleaning bathrooms, covering for a short-staffed team. Enter security, frantic about these sacred backpacks. I explained the situation, but I’ll admit I wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. Sue me for being human after hours of cleaning up after others.

Fast forward to this week, and here’s where my blood boils: A parent filed a formal complaint. Not about the kids who left their things in a shared space, not about the systemic issue of clutter in the hallways, but about me. They took offense to my “tone” and “actions” in resolving their child’s oversight.

Let me repeat: Their child left personal items in a hallway, in violation of basic safety and communal respect, but I’m the problem because I wasn’t “friendly” enough while doing a job no one else wanted to do.

It’s maddening. Not just the complaint itself, but the ripple effect it creates. I lost sleep over this, not because I feel guilty, but because it’s a symptom of a larger issue: a lack of respect for the people who keep spaces functional. Parents, teachers, and students rely on me to maintain order, yet the second I assert boundaries or refuse to smile through frustration, I’m suddenly in the wrong.

I brought it up with my boss, hoping for support or at least acknowledgment of the unfairness. Instead, the solution was to sidestep the problem entirely: don’t move personal items, just work around them. Which, frankly, feels like a slap in the face. Why is the burden always on the worker to accommodate thoughtlessness?

I hate that this situation still lingers in my head. I hate that I feel powerless to demand respect in a system designed to undervalue my role. Most of all, I hate that I’ve started questioning whether I’m even allowed to be frustrated when these moments pile up.

But here’s the truth: I’m allowed to be frustrated. I’m allowed to be angry. And I’m allowed to demand better from students, from parents, from my workplace. Because respect isn’t a luxury; it’s a baseline.

Day Five Hundred & Twenty-five: 1/14/2025

Tonight, I found myself in a teacher’s pod, utterly alone, with nothing but a box of tissues and my thoughts for company. It wasn’t a glamorous scene. Just me, my notebook, and the quiet sound of my own sniffling. The kind of crying that hits hard and won’t let up.

I’ve always been good at bottling things up, pushing through shifts like the world isn’t heavy on my back. But today, the weight caught up to me. There I was, sitting in the middle of a space meant for collaboration and learning, feeling like a lost child waiting for someone to notice they’re missing. My tears didn’t just fall, they poured. They drenched my shirt, streaked through my beard, and left me wondering how I’d even managed to hold it together for this long.

In the midst of this emotional unraveling, I had to laugh at one small victory: my mascara didn’t budge. It’s ironic, really. While my emotions were running rampant, my makeup stayed perfectly intact, a testament to good choices in cosmetics.

But here’s the thing about tears: they demand to be felt. They refuse to be ignored. And sometimes, the best thing you can do is let them fall. I spent hours weeping, writing, and wiping my face until the tissues ran out. It wasn’t elegant or empowering. It just was.

There’s no neat conclusion to this story, no tidy resolution tied up in a bow. I didn’t have an epiphany or find a solution to fix whatever is ailing me. But I did make space for the flood of emotions I’ve been avoiding, and maybe that’s enough for now.

Some days, it’s okay to just sit in your feelings and let the world wait. It’s okay to cry until your face feels raw, to mourn the things you can’t quite name. And it’s okay to celebrate the little victories, like choosing the right waterproof mascara for the hardest days.

Tomorrow will come, with all its challenges and imperfections. But tonight, I’m giving myself permission to feel everything, unapologetically.

Day Five Hundred & Twenty-six: 1/15/2025

Today wasn’t perfect, but it was better than yesterday. I’m still carrying the emotional weight of this job and the endless nonsense that comes with it. There are moments when I think I’d prefer dealing with actual bullshit. It would feel more meaningful than the kind I’m wading through now.

This morning, I started my day with a friend. It was a rare, much-needed slice of normalcy amidst the chaos, and honestly, I lost track of time. By the time she left, I had 20 minutes to rinse off, pull myself together, and rush out the door. My usual routine… my makeup, my armor had to take a back seat. I threw on the essentials and hoped for the best.

The result? A student complimented me on my look, but I spent the rest of the day feeling like a raccoon who got caught in the rain. Smudged eyeliner, uneven mascara, my reflection told the story of a rushed morning and a mind preoccupied with too much.

Still, that tiny compliment stuck with me. It was just enough to remind me that even when I feel messy, tired, and far from my best, someone out there sees something worth noting.

But let’s be honest, my favorite part of today is yet to come. The moment I get home, wash off this day, and scrub away what’s left of my “raccoon eyes,” I’ll reclaim a little bit of myself.

Not every day is a good one, but sometimes the small moments like a friend’s visit or a student’s kind words are enough to keep us going. Even when you feel like a mess, it’s okay to show up and be seen. Because the truth is, we’re all just doing the best we can.

Day Five Hundred & Twenty-seven: 1/16/2025

Tonight, I did something different. Instead of just going through the motions of my usual routine, I decided to add a little extra effort. Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything dramatic. I simply went door to door, cleaning handles, bars, and stalls where fingerprints had collected.

It didn’t take long, but it felt like a quiet rebellion against the monotony of my job. A small act of diligence, a way to remind myself (and anyone paying attention) that I do what I’m supposed to do. Even when no one’s watching.

Isn’t it funny how something so simple can feel oddly significant? Maybe it’s because most days I’m too frustrated or drained to put in more than the bare minimum. Maybe it’s because this job often feels thankless, and these small wins are the only acknowledgment I can count on.

I’m not saying this is going to change my outlook entirely. Cleaning fingerprints off a door handle doesn’t erase the bigger frustrations of the week. But in a way, it’s comforting. It’s proof that I can show up, put in a little extra effort, and take pride in the details. Even when I’d rather not.

Sometimes, the smallest actions remind us that we’re more than our circumstances. So yes, tonight, I’m proud of myself. For showing up. For doing the work. And for taking a moment to acknowledge it.

Day Five Hundred & Twenty-eight: 1/17/2025

Some days, just showing up is the victory. Today was one of those days. I clocked in, went through the motions, and survived, but not without a heavy dose of death-scrolling to keep me going. We were short-staffed again tonight, which meant I was the one in charge. Funny how responsibility finds you when there’s no extra paycheck to match it. By the end of the week, I was running on fumes, giving myself permission to put in the minimum effort.

The day ended with a bike ride home in the snow, and that’s where things got... interesting. Biking in the snow is both magical and infuriating. There’s something enchanting about how the icy glitter falls from the sky, catching the light and turning everything into a shimmering winter wonderland. But that beauty is fleeting when the snow clings to you like a bad cologne. My beard, eyelashes, and clothes were crusted with ice by the time I made it halfway home.

It’s always a dance with danger. The snow builds up beneath the tires, clogging the bike and making it feel like you’re pedaling through molasses. Every turn feels precarious, as if one wrong move could send you sprawling into a frozen abyss. Add the cars that forget you exist, and it’s an adrenaline-fueled commute that I wouldn’t recommend to the faint of heart.

But somehow, I made it. I didn’t break down in tears, though I came close when the bike fought me with every push. The cold was biting, the path was treacherous, and yet there was a strange sense of accomplishment when I finally stumbled through my front door.

Now, I’m off until Tuesday. Unless they call us in for snow removal. Let’s hope the universe decides I’ve earned a break. Because some weeks, survival is the real victory.