Peter Salloway dragged another crate out of the crawlspace in the basement of the old humanities building. It was dank, musty and he was pretty sure the floor back there was covered in rat turds. Peter strained his 5'10" frame to lift the heavy wooden box through the low doorway. When he'd agreed to work off his parking fines with the Buildings and Grounds crew he'd thought he'd be mowing grass or painting walls--the kinds of manual labor he'd done every summer in high school.
"Salloway! Getcher ass over here!" Growled Tex Baxter, Peter's work crew boss for the day. "Pete, Dr. Ayudra needs some help moving her office from building 5. Take this form L17-D and go help her. Have her fill it out and sign it when you're done so you'll get credit towards those parking tickets."
That had been six hours ago. Dr Ayudra didn't just have an office, she had a store room, two other departmental offices, and a bunch of crap stored in the basement, all of which was moving over to the shiny new building 17. At first it had felt like Christmas; emptying cabinets, pulling books and knick-knacks off shelves, and removing layers of clippings from a crumbling cork board the size of a ping pong table.
"Hey Doc? Why not just unscrew the board from the wall and take it as-is?"
"Oh but Peter, how would it look to take such a shoddy old thing and place it in our clean new offices?"
Peter got the impression that Dr Ayudra, an aging academic who'd spent most of the last couple hours micromanaging which of the large plastic bins Peter's latest lifting and carrying efforts had gone into, was not pleased to be moving, and was taking it out on Peter. He tried to get her to sign off on his labor form before she headed home for dinner.
"But there's still some crates my predecessor left in the basement. See if you can get them up here with the bins, or at least into the hallway at the bottom of the stairs. I'll be back later."
Then she'd left, taking his form L17-D with her.
Peter let the crate slam to the floor and stretched his aching back. The crates were wooden with rusty nails and metal straps holding them together. This one has some stenciling on it in what looked like Arabic, and was leaking sawdust from a somewhat moldy and waterlogged corner. No two were the same size or shape, but they all felt like they were full of rocks. Peter shlepped his latest excavation to the stack he'd made by the bottom of the stairs and dropped it at the end of the line, making sure not to catch his toes in the process. The metal bands holding the soggy wood together snapped with an off-key twang, and the crate collapsed to dump sawdust, moldy canvas, and the remains of aging newspaper onto the floor.
"Goddamn it!" Peter swore, then trudged upstairs to get a bin. "This mold is going to kill me, I know it!" Peter muttered as he fished anonymous lumps and objects wrapped in paper and canvas and tied with ancient twine out of the sawdust.
The door at the top of the stairs creaked, and Dr Ayudra peered down at him over her bifocals. "I sincerely hope you weren't planning on stealing anything now that you've broken into my belongings."
Peter bit off an angry retort remembering he still needed his form back.
"No Doctor, the crate was weakened and broke when I set it down. I'm transferring the contents to a new bin."
"Yes, well, hurry up. I have better things to do than watch you clean up the mess you made."
Dr Ayudra wandered past Peter and stuck her head into the crawl space.
"There are still a couple crates back there! Stop messing about with that and get them out here!"
Peter bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything he'd regret and ducked back into the crawl space. He'd left the two smallest boxes to last and was able to bring them out one under each arm. The Professor was trying to fit the top of the damaged crate into the bin, having finished transferring the contents. Peter could tell at a glance it was too large to fit, but didn't say anything as he stacked the last boxes by the door.
"Doctor, if were done here I need my form."
"I dropped it off on my way to dinner, I know how tempting it would be for a boy like you to falsify your efforts."
Dr Ayudra brushed past Peter as he fought to keep from screaming at the old bat.
"And make sure the crawlspace door is shut tightly before you leave!"
Peter stalked back and managed not to slam the door only by reminding himself if he broke it he'd have more fines to work off. On his way out he paused by the open plastic bin. He'd never even considered taking any of the crap until she made that jibe about stealing. He glanced up the stairs; she was nowhere in sight. Peter didn't even stop to think, just grabbed a flat bundle off the top and stuffed it into his pocket before exiting the basement.
Later, after a shower, an abbreviated meal of leftover pizza, and learning that his roommate was going to be out late studying Peter laid back on his bed and examined what he'd taken. A thin medallion about the size of a half-dollar. It was age-blackened, maybe bronze or silver, Peter wasn't sure. It was lumpy, like someone had been wailing on it with a hammer. On impulse Peter strung it on the chain with his St Christopher medal and tucked it under his shirt. Abruptly exhausted Peter slipped off to sleep, the events of the day growing muddled in his mind.