This is obviously a joke character and purely satirical.
The views of the character do not reflect the views of the writer.
Mop Wielder Sheet_______________________________________
Name: Harold Lewinski
Age: 30
Appearance:
Race: Polish-American
Nation: United States
Mop: A mop.
Mops are commonly used to clean liquids by absorbing them using several spongy threads often attached to a wooden or plastic stick.
Magical Abilities:
- Harold is a normally functioning human being. He has no magic abilities.
Personality:
Four years of working as a custodian for Academia Immortalis has left him pretty jaded and annoyed at everything. He quickly realized that pretty much everyone who wasn't a common staff worker was completely insane. And that attempting to interact with them like you would with a normal, functioning human being was a hopeless endeavor. He learned that the best way to be maintenance staff at the Academia is to get there, do your job, and go home. Nothing more, nothing less. Well, maybe try to sneak a bit of scotch now and then in the janitor's closet. Just to stay sane.
"Okay... so you know how they all have names like Xelthor or Callios and stuff? Well everyone on staff is named Martha, or Jorge, or Rick or something, y'know, fuckin' normal. It's just the students. It's always just the students."
Background:
Harold graduated from high school with straight C's and proceeded to attempt to study at a community college. That lasted about two years before he gave up and started working. For an unskilled worker, pickings were slim and we all know beggars can't be choosers. Harold led a promising career in dead end jobs, moving from crappy job to crappy job and living in a run-down apartment with a roommate who smoked a lot of weed.
Harold is what you'd call a career underachiever. Being below average at everything is the way he's always rolled, while a mix of laziness and a poor sense of motivation fueled the engine of this long crappy road trip he called his life. Before he worked at Academia Immortalis, he was a gas station attendant until the place was torn down.
A month long job-hunt later landed him a custodian's gig in some school he'd never heard of. He thought it would be some kind of college or something. Turns out he had just stepped into one big can of crazy. The students each had these weapons. Like swords and stuff. And they fight each other. Like, actually fight. And everyone here wears clothes that he's pretty sure aren't meant to be worn like that... or at all. And they act so weird. You can't walk two feet without stepping in someone's tragic background or murdered parents. Everyone here has the most ridiculous, contrived upbringing imaginable. Oh and that's not even mentioning that each student has some monster or some shit that hangs out with them. Harold was pretty sure that this place was breaking a
ton of safety regulations.
It's been four years and he's only gotten more jaded about it. He comes to work, does the bare minimum of what's expected of him, and then he goes home to watch reruns on TV and get slightly drunk on Fridays. But frankly, this is the best paying job he's ever had (even though it's not actually that much) and the job comes with health insurance. So he hasn't quit. Yet.
Harold has developed a set of rules for dealing with students.
- Don't ever initiate any kind of interaction that can't be ended within a few seconds.
- Never ask them questions that don't have yes or no answers.
- If they're having a flashback or a monologue just clean around them; interrupting only makes them go on longer.
- Don't make eye contact, because then they'll try to initiate a conversation.
- Don't pick up anything off the ground because chances are it's somebody's family heirloom or magic relic and its disappearance will send its owner on a fucking spirit journey or something.
- Watch your step.
- Wait until they're done fighting.
- Leave the really
big messes to the night shift.
- Never, ever, under any circumstances, become part of their storylines.
Ever. That's a can of worms you don't want to open.
