Marcy’s Gift: The Custodial Cart That Celebrated Christmas

By Karen Clos

When Killeen resident Marcy Maharaj, 34, goes to work, she arrives with the day outlined in her mind.

Not that there is much variation to her work, she says. In fact, if she were asked to describe it, she might say it was mostly routine. Or perhaps, predictable. Sometimes, she wonders if it might be invisible, but she says proudly, she knows better.

Maharaj does one of those necessary jobs that is sometimes least appreciated when things are squeaky clean and very definitely appreciated when she’s called upon to do the kind of daily labor that few people would want to do: like cleaning the university’s restrooms for $11 per hour as a contracted custodian hired through a third-party vendor.

She is grateful for this work. Laid off last year from a warehouse in Temple and returned to the same job she held for two years before the warehouse.

But this month and very definitely next, she is doing a bit more than her usual routine. Actually, maybe more than a bit. Maybe a lot. Maybe more than a lot. Possibly a lot more than a lot.

“I just wanted to do something to make the people I see every day feel a little of the Christmas spirit,” Maharaj admits as she stands next to her custodial cart, filled from top to bottom with all kinds of compartmentalized cleaning tools.

Except for now. Well, more specifically, last week. Last week, she says, she came to work just like she always does and did what she always does. Except for one big thing. Literally. One. Big. Thing.

Her constant companion – a custodial cart stocked with paper towels, trash bags, toilet paper, a cordless Dyson vacuum cleaner, large yellow bucket with attached wringer, ruddy gray solid plastic 55-gallon trash can, half dozen wet floor warning signs, carpet shampoos, dust pans, mops, brooms, spray bottles, red rags, and blue latex elbow length gloves, and a cornucopia of specialized utensils – is, in some ways, the same functional cart.

And, in some other ways, it is not. Because as of last week, that same cart looks like a mini version of a Christmas Day float.

Double takes, she laughed. Quite a few double takes. And the biggest smiles she has seen – sometimes the first smiles she has seen from the more serious types, she confesses, really make her day. That, and how their eyes seem to become illuminated with wonder.

It is, she’s proud to say, a thing to behold that she has created.

Far from its ubiquitous utilitarian origins, Marcy’s standard custodial cart’s plastic frame is now draped in twists and swirls of chaotic bright red and silver mylar tinsel, sparkly gold, green, and red orbs hanging from holiday ribbons and taped to the rim that used to be nothing more special than the simple brim of the opening for the trash bag. And the trash bags. They, too, are transformed.

The obligatory exterior banana yellow cloth trash bag is itself still purposeful, of course. There is work to do. But while it still hangs at the front of the cart, it now rests nestled happily inside a cherry red velvet bag trimmed with white fur – looking for all the world like Santa himself may have added his own bit of flair.

The lid that closes over the trash bag, too, has been wrapped in Christmas paper declaring merry and bright. Three small golden bells dangle haphazardly from holiday ribbons and tinkle when the rugged motion of the cart is pushed or pulled.

But wait. That is not all. The legs of the cart are not forgotten either. They are wrapped in candy cane tinsel on all four sides and even the front of the cart – right above the hanging yellow hazard signs – is an 18-inch cherry red bow with a complimentary striped red and white bow in the center and a tin, arched mantle clock the size of a shoebox.

The face of that clock is, of course, a wreath. And it plays carols on the hour and half hour. Right there, chiming out Jingle Bells nestled between two 32-ounce spray bottles of disinfectant and professional grade hydrogen peroxide cleaners.

Not one inch is neglected, and still, the functional items she uses are still there. Only now, they seem more like custodial Christmas presents placed thoughtfully around an artificial two-foot spruce green Walmart Christmas tree – itself lovingly festooned with poinsettias and pinecones, bows and baubles, decorative doves, and strands of multi-colored jewel-toned pearls laced over and under its branches.

The holidays, Maharaj observes, is sometimes a struggle. She would know. In fact, she does know. She is a single mom with two sons, Hayden, 11, and Liam, 9. They are great kids, she smiles. She lives in a house she rents from her mom, Gemma, who helps her manage it all. Her weekly paycheck, she reveals only when asked, is $300 most weeks. Sometimes, only $200.

And still, she celebrates. Not just for herself or the attention, she insists, but because she wants to inspire happiness. Maybe even cheer herself a little bit, she whispered, her Hershey kisses colored eyes welling up a little as she looks away as if in an effort to collect herself. Her father passed away in December, 2005, she says slowly. She misses him still. This helps.

She grew up in New York City and was there during 9/11, she says. Five people in a two-bedroom apartment. Four mattresses on one of the bedroom floors. She was an elementary school kid at P.S. 50 back then. Sometimes, she says, she thinks of trying college.

She is already wise about what matters. That much is clear.

“The world can be a messy, ugly place sometimes,” she said. “But one person can make a real difference if they just allow themselves to remember what it is to be kind in unexpected ways.”

Jeff Kirk, Ph.D., the University’s associate provost and research officer, confessed watching as Maharaj carried in a large cardboard box – practically half her size, he laughed – when she arrived early on a Monday morning, emptying the contents on the industrial carpet of the hallway yards up from his office, deliberating what would go where.

He had no idea. Until he saw the actual where those decorations were going. Maybe she was decorating the door of the custodian’s closet, he first thought.

He walks the halls routinely throughout the day, he says. Part of his wellness routine. Steps to satisfy the app on his wristwatch.

So, it wasn’t long before he encountered the Christmas cart in all its holiday glory. A long, long way, he said from his first Christmas memory, but still, it brought him back to the simple wonder of that moment. However long ago it might have been.

He stopped his walking, he said. Found Maharaj and told her how much he enjoyed it – and the extra effort she showed just to experience her colleagues enjoying the season.

“She makes $11 an hour, and she cares about being a part of our community of people here and whether or not we remember to take the time to be happy during these holidays,” he observed.

The Christmas-themed explosion on her cart, he said, did the trick. And not just the first time he saw it, but now, every time he sees it, he laughed. But it is more than that, too, he added. Not an elaborately wrapped or expensive gift. In fact, quite the opposite. Maharaj’s gift, he thinks, was in the giving of the one thing she had to give: herself and the simple joy she created just so it would be shared.