У каждого своя карма.
It was October 9, 2001. After a paranormal incident just before the autumn school break, during which several students claimed to have seen ghosts hanging from the walls, the school principal tasked the Queen of the School with repainting the girls’ restroom to make it brighter and more welcoming.
So here she was at 9:30 on a Tuesday morning, staring at a gallon of paint. She pried the lid off with a screwdriver and muttered something that would have gotten a student detention.
“They should have asked me sooner, not wait until the last day of the school break,” she said.
She threw the drop cloth on the floor and rolled the paint in random strokes. About halfway through the walls, the light above flickered.
The Queen of the School didn't look up. "They wore out the bulb faster because they were mopping the floor with too much water."
The faucet in the second sink squeaked and began to run.
"Also faulty because they turned the knob too hard," she said, though she set down the roller.
The middle stall door suddenly swung open, smacking her squarely on the buttocks. She slipped, lost her balance, and crashed to the floor, landing in the gallon of paint that had spilled across the tiles.
She sprang to her feet and growled like an enraged tiger. Nearby, the Grigoriy Clan watched the entire spectacle unfold, laughing so hard they could barely contain themselves.
For a long moment, she lay there in the spreading white puddle, looking up at the ceiling tiles. Paint soaked through her jeans, her shirt, and the ends of her mullet.
"Door wasn't latched," she announced to the empty room. "Floor's got a slope because they walk on the floor too hard."
The stall door swung shut. The latch clicked, locking into place.
"They break everything around here because they don't know what they're doing," she said.
While the Portuguese Guy was passing by, he saw the mess and offered to clean it up. He was shocked that the Queen of the School didn't give him a remark and accepted the help. She even said, “Thank you.”
He grabbed his mop, bucket, gloves, and a few cleaning rags. First, he rolled the walls where the paint spattered, and then he began working on the spill. He used a scraper to lift the thick paint from the tiles. Then he soaked the remaining paint with warm, soapy water and scrubbed the floor until the white stains began to disappear.
It took nearly an hour, but eventually the tiles were clean again. He dried the floor, put up a wet-floor sign, and stepped back to check his work.
Свет перестал моргать.