His mind racing as he walked through his building's lobby towards the elevators, Melvin didn't see the woman mopping, the wet floor, nor the bucket of soapy water until he'd lost his footing, slid a about a foot and knocked it over, its foamy gray contents squirting across the floor. The cleaning woman, a young woman with most of her hair tucked under a tan baseball cap with the word "Janitor" written across the top, flashed him a look of undisguised disdain.

Bridget had dropped him off in front of the building and drove off to park in her reserved space in the garage, and Melvin was glad that she wasn't here to see him sliding around the tile like one of the Three Stooges. He had fallen sharply to his knees, and he struggled to get up, murmuring quick apologies.

"Didn't you see the sign? Wet floor, buddy," she said, her mop held threateningly in her hands.

"What is going on here?" bellowed a low, strained voice approaching through the lobby. Melvin regained his balance and saw a thin, white-haired man with a Hitler mustache coming towards them like a moth attracted to flame. The man had on the same kind of tan uniform that the cleaning woman wore, and he looked ready to crack some skulls. Melvin visualized the angry, mustached man tearing out the uniformed girl's heart and eating it raw in front of her eyes. Not a pleasant thought.

"Aw, shit. My supervisor," the cleaning woman said, a grim expression on her face. Melvin caught the look of dread on the woman's face and knew that he didn't want have her held responsible for his folly.

"You clumsy bitch! Are you injured, sir?" the supervisor said with a vehement snarl towards the woman and a mock concern aimed at Melvin. No doubt that the man wanted Melvin to accuse the cleaning woman of incompetence or negligence or something so he'd have an excuse to fire her. Melvin wondered what the man had against her. She was an attractive woman, her ebony skin like smooth chocolate, intelligent dark brown eyes, and a youthful face with stunningly sculpted features. Not your typical cleaning woman.

"No, no. It's all my fault. I wasn't paying attention and just walked right through the area this young woman was mopping. I didn't see the sign," Melvin said, pointing a finger at the obvious yellow sign cautioning everyone with the bold letters : CAUTION WET FLOOR. To be honest, Melvin knew that the sign was hard to miss. "There was a lot going on in my mind, and I just missed it."

"Right," the man turned to the woman. "Tasha, you get off with a warning. But next time, put the sign where ANYONE can see it." His voice had a sarcastic edge, careful not too sound too condescending towards Melvin, but Melvin caught a whiff of the man's bitterness like dog shit on a flowery spring breeze. The man whirled on his heels and stormed off to crawl back into whatever dank pit of hell he'd come. Melvin knew the type well; he worked for one than one of them.

Tasha sighed, wiped her sleeve against her forehead and said, "Thanks, man. That asshole's been after me since I stopped him from copping a feel in the storage closet."

Melvin nodded and replied, "Yeah, I kinda got a boss like that."