the crap map

In the slow elevator ride with the mop and bucket and the pockets of my apron tucked with latex gloves, I like to admire the map of the world. The map, circa 1960, is taped to the wood paneling. It has been heavily defaced with rips, smears, and rude remarks (United states of crap and fuck isreal (sic), for instance.) Perhaps the residents at Hill House resent the world, which would be understandable. Someone even took issue with the order of nations and blacked out many of the country names with a ballpoint pen. It must have taken quite a while, they did a really good job. I don’t even know who’s who in Europe anymore. It’s been reduced to nameless slabs of blue, pink and green, pastels that give no indication of political turbulence or GDP. I admire the audacity of whatever resident, confined and ignored as he or she was, to take out a pen and scrawl with such fervour, as if it made any difference. Their conviction was the thing! Myself I am too lazy to feel much in the way of worldy convictions, but it is in my nature to admire such handiwork.