(When I retired, after working as a custodian, I wrote an ode to my job and fellow employees. It is set to the music of “I Did It My Way“.)
I came. I played the game, I grabbed a mop, I did the hallways.
I knew, not what to do, I was brand new, and not in small ways.
My hands were chafe, but I felt safe, for there was Delva in the stairway.
But more, much more than that, I did it their way.
Day after day, I followed through, eight hours when five, would surely do.
I folded my wings and learned to walk, counted T.P. rolls or dusted chalk.
But through it all, I still recall, I did it their way.
T’was long before, in ’94”, spring break had not, quite yet been broken,
In some dark hall, by someone tall, I heard the word, PMG spoken.
A Ms. Maclean yanked at my chain, but in a loving and a care way.
Her sweet soft voice , said “Take your choice, but do it their way.”
What could I do? What could be done? Go to your book, read chapter one,
Paragraph three, explained to me, what a good boy I’d better be.
We love you more than we can say, So do it their way.
So soon, I settled down, by someone else, my chores were chosen.
I shoveled snow, in parking lots, until my little buns were frozen.
And then all spent, my old legs bent, flat on my back beneath God’s skyway,
There’s Richard’s call. Well dang it all –Just do it my way.
What could I say? What could I do, open your book read chapter two.
And in small print, too small to read, is all the info, you will need.
Just be smart, Just do your part and do it their way.
But then one day, they took away, all the outdoor machinery.
I kid you not, some other clod, did all the shrubs, the lawns, the greenery.
I laughed out loud. I shunned the crowd, but in a civilized and fair way.
It was the trend, so in the end, I did it their way.
What could I do? How could this be? Open your book. Don’t look at me.
Please forgive, when I confess, I can’t recall, my minds a mess.
The only thing, that I can say, is do it their way.
And now, I leave the ranks, and join the cranks and weird dissenters.
Where once oppressed, I’ve now become, another one, of your tormentors.
Don’t count me out, or laugh and shout, as I appear upon the stairway.
Just read the text, you could be next, so do it their way.
What can I say? What can be done? Go back and re-read chapter one.
You’ll understand it all one day, but not before your old and grey.
As long as they give you your pay, just do it their way.
– Doug Garrett