Bug remover, cleaners and other assumed roles

Bug removal was never written into my job description, but there I was, face to face with a creature on the ladies' room floor.

It wasn't big, even though the woman who discovered it called it a tarantula. And it looked harmless, lying on its back with its little legs flailing about. Pathetic, really. Using a paper cup and manila folder, I deftly caught it and flushed it down the toilet.

It wasn't a job duty I'd signed up for. It just happened that one day, months earlier, a similar bug was discovered and there was much debate over what to do.

One co-worker suggested calling building management. Another thought we should get one of the guys in our office to stride in on a white horse and rescue us. "We need a man to do this," she declared.

Now, I was as repulsed by the bug as the next person. But I was more offended by the insinuation that we womenfolk could not handle the matter ourselves. So I took action.

From then on, every time there was a bug for disposal, I got the call. But why did I comply? Why did I get up from my desk at the sound of the first shriek?

It's a mystery of workplace psychology. Every office I've worked in has had employees filling these types of roles, from kitchen cleaning, to fixing equipment, to planning parties. The tasks aren't formally assigned, and it's just assumed that certain people will take them on, usually without any words of appreciation.

Take, for example, the Fridge Cleaner. Office fridges are the worst. Remember in grammar school, when you jumped up and down on a chair and your teacher said, "Do you treat your furniture at home like that?" Well, I don't think anyone treats their home fridge like the office one. After our Fridge Cleaner spent an hour or two washing out the crisper drawers, discarding gloppy apples, and sniffing quarts of Half-and-Half, there was always someone complaining that a particular container of hummus was missing. I don't think anyone said, "Thanks! It looks great!"

The Coffee Pot Cleaner had a related role with an added science experiment. She mixed carefully measured proportions of that blue cleaner stuff and super-hot water and poured the concoction into the dirty pot. Within moments, monthsold layers of coffee would peel off the sides and swirl around the blue/brown solution. "Eeewww. . .that's disgusting!" a passer-by would remark, cheerfully emptying another pot into her company-logo mug and returning it to the hot burner.

Scrubber extraordinaire, the Microwave Cleaner removed greasy bits of pasta sauce and exploded chicken soup residue from the sides of the oven. Amid the aroma of burnt popcorn, reheated coffee, and soy sauce, someone would comment, "Oh, I never think to clean the microwave!" The Microwave Cleaner would mutter under her breath, "Obviously."

Roles were not limited to cleaning, however. Some employees got stuck as the go-to people whenever office equipment malfunctioned. Inevitably the person sitting closest to the copier became the Copier De-Jammer, usually summoned about fifteen minutes before the UPS guy arrived for a pickup. "Oh, I can never get these misfeeds out!" someone would moan, peering pleadingly into the De-Jammer's cube. Sometimes, the Copier De-Jammer doubled as the Toner Adder, called to duty with a phrase like, "Every time I try to add the toner, I spill it all over the place!" I confess that I am guilty of saying this. But it was true - whenever I attempted to add toner, there was soon a coating of black inky powder on the carpet, on my clothes, and in the nooks and crannies of the machine itself. Perhaps the Toner Adder accepted the assignment just to keep me from trying it myself.

Then there was the unofficial Hospitality Department. Any kind of party - baby showers, retirement celebrations, holiday extravaganzas - usually fell to a committee of three women who were roped into the planning years earlier, perhaps because they had offhandedly suggested a florist or caterer. The Party Planners never volunteered. Others would just turn to them and say, "So, what are we doing for so-and-so?" or "Are you guys going to order that yuppie food again?"

Holiday Decorators faced other troubles. In one office, everyone wanted to have a Christmas tree, but nobody wanted to put it up. "Someone's got to do the tree!" was an hourly statement, but the box remained unopened until December 20th, when the same woman - always claiming that this was going to be her last year - would dump the fake branches on the floor and shove them into the designated holes in the metal trunk. When she finished, the lobby always looked festive, but someone would remark on how lame the tree looked, and why wouldn't the office spring for a nicer one, maybe one of those high-tech versions that already have the lights on?

So the question remains. Why do we stay with these roles until we leave the company? Is it about pet peeves or feeling heroic? Are we just pushovers? We do it to ourselves, but why?

Perhaps we feel that if we don't take them on, nobody else will. There would be piles of bugs on the ladies' room floor and the fridge would burst with Half-and-Half from 1997. Special occasions would never be marked again and the copier would be jammed forever. Imagine the chaos!

I only half-believe that, though. When I resigned from my former job, another woman seemed poised to become the new Bug Slayer. In fact, during my last week, she took off her boot and pounded a "tarantula." I knew then that I could leave with a clear conscience.