Day Five of the Shutdown, and I’m Still Here, Mopping Up the Government’s Hot Mess

By Carl “Buckets” Malone, Capitol Janitor Extraordinaire.

Buckets

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Carl Malone, Capitol Janitor a true hero.

Washington,D.C.- Well, folks, it’s day five of the Great Government Shutdown of 2025, and guess who’s still clocking in like a sucker? Yours truly, Carl “Buckets” Malone, the unsung hero of the U.S. Capitol, armed with nothing but a mop, a bucket, and a rapidly dwindling will to live. No paycheck, no hazard pay, just me wading through the steaming swamp of dysfunction that is our nation’s capital. Meanwhile, the so-called “leaders” of this fine country are out there playing chicken with the federal budget like it’s a reality show called Who Can Screw Over the Working Class Faster?

Let’s set the scene: the Capitol smells like a mix of stale coffee, broken promises, and whatever cologne Mitch McConnell’s been marinating in since the Reagan administration. The senators? Oh, they’re still strutting in, looking like they just cashed out their latest insider trading scheme or sold their souls to a lobbying firm for a lifetime supply of steak dinners. Me? I’m living the high life on existential dread and the occasional half-eaten bagel I swipe from the press corps’ break room. Pro tip: the ones with cream cheese are chef’s kiss, even if they’re technically biohazards by day five.You’d think a government shutdown would mean less mess, right? Wrong.

These politicians are like toddlers with unlimited access to glitter and no concept of consequences. The hallways are littered with crumpled Post-it notes, empty Red Bull cans, and the shattered dreams of interns who thought they’d be “making a difference.” My job? Keep the Capitol from turning into a post-apocalyptic landfill. Because if I don’t, the flies move in. Then it’s Antifa, squatting in the Rotunda. Then it’s those January 6 cosplayers, back with their Viking helmets and a fresh batch of bad decisions. Before you know it, the whole place smells like a porta-potty at a music festival, and I’m not paid enough to deal with that level of chaos.

Spoiler: I’m not paid at all right now.Let’s talk about the clowns running this circus. Up at the top, we’ve got former President Trump, who’s out here tweeting (sorry, X-ing) that the Republicans are “winning” the shutdown.

Winning what, exactly? The award for Most Creative Ways to Tank the Economy? He’s out there promising mass layoffs of federal employees like it’s a game of Survivor: Bureaucracy Edition. “You’re fired!” he probably cackles, while federal workers like me are wondering if we can pay our rent with IOUs and patriotic vibes. Meanwhile, the Democrats are holding the line, demanding Obamacare subsidies get extended before they’ll even think about reopening the government. Because nothing says “we care about the people” like turning healthcare into a bargaining chip while I’m out here dodging paperclips in the floor drains.Yesterday, Trump had the audacity to tell the Navy not to worry about their paychecks. “It’s all coming,” he said, like he’s personally delivering sacks of gold from Mar-a-Lago.

Yeah, sure, Don. The only thing “coming” for me is another coffee stain on the Senate floor, a fresh pile of discarded briefing papers, and the creeping realization that if I stop showing up, this place will descend into Lord of the Flies faster than you can say “filibuster.” I can already picture it: rogue historians in tricorn hats reenacting the Constitutional Convention in the hallways, while interns barter granola bars for Wi-Fi passwords. Absolute anarchy.So who’s really winning here? The senators, with their cushy pensions and mysterious offshore accounts? The president, whoever that is by the time you read this? Nah. The real MVPs are us—the janitors, the clerks, the poor saps still dragging themselves to work despite zero pay, because someone has to keep this dumpster fire from spreading. We’re the ones holding the line against entropy, mopping up the literal and figurative waste before the Capitol turns into a free-for-all squat for every conspiracy theorist with a megaphone and a grudge.

Let’s take a moment to appreciate the absurdity of it all. The U.S. government, the supposed pinnacle of democracy, can’t even keep its doors open without tripping over its own ego. These are the same people who spent $1.7 trillion on a defense budget but can’t scrounge up a few bucks to keep the lights on for the folks who clean their offices. I’m out here scrubbing gum off the floor while they’re debating whether to fund a new fleet of fighter jets or a border wall that’s basically just a really expensive Instagram backdrop.

Priorities, right?

And don’t get me started on the Senate cafeteria. You’d think a shutdown would mean less foot traffic, but nope, those senators are still waddling in for their taxpayer-subsidized lobster bisque like it’s the Last Supper. I found a half-eaten plate of shrimp scampi under a table yesterday, which is honestly a metaphor for this whole shutdown: wasteful, smelly, and nobody’s taking responsibility for it. I’m half-tempted to leave it there as a protest, but then the rats would move in, and I’d rather not add “exterminator” to my resume.Speaking of waste, let’s talk about the Capitol’s plumbing. You know what happens when the government shuts down but people keep showing up? The toilets don’t. I’m not saying I’ve had to unclog a senator’s “legacy” from a stall, but I’m also not not saying it. Let’s just say I’ve seen things that would make a hazmat team cry. And yet, here I am, plunging away like a modern-day Sisyphus, because if I don’t, the Capitol becomes a biohazard zone, and I’m not about to let CNN run a headline like “Janitor Abandons Post, Congress Drowns in Its Own Filth.”

The irony? While I’m out here fighting the good fight against coffee stains and overflowing trash cans, the politicians are busy fighting over who gets to claim credit for “fixing” the shutdown. Spoiler alert: nobody’s fixing anything. They’re just yelling at each other on C-SPAN, pointing fingers like it’s a middle school dodgeball game. “It’s the Democrats’ fault!” “No, it’s the Republicans’ fault!”

Meanwhile, I’m sweeping up the confetti from their last fundraising gala, wondering if I can sell the glitter on eBay to cover my electric bill.Let’s not forget the interns, bless their hearts. These kids show up in their ill-fitting suits, clutching their dreams of changing the world, only to spend their days fetching coffee and dodging senators who think “mentorship” means “free labor.” I saw one intern yesterday, wide-eyed and clutching a stack of briefing papers, looking like he was about to cry into his Starbucks cup. I gave him a nod and a leftover bagel—call it my contribution to the future of democracy. Those kids are the real collateral damage of this shutdown, stuck in a building full of egomaniacs who think “public service” means serving themselves first.And then there’s the media. Oh, the media.

They’re camped out in the press gallery, chugging energy drinks and filing stories about how the shutdown is “a test of political will.” A test of what? My patience? Because I’m failing that one spectacularly. I had to shoo a reporter out of the janitor’s closet yesterday because he thought it was a “quiet place to file his story.” Buddy, the only story in here is me, a mop, and a bucket full of regrets.So here we are, day five, and I’m still mopping. The flies are circling, the toilets are groaning, and the senators are still arguing over who gets to be the bigger hero in this self-inflicted disaster. But you know what? I’m not giving up. Not because I’m noble, but because if I don’t show up, this place will collapse under the weight of its own nonsense.

The Capitol’s not just a building, it’s a symbol, and I’ll be damned if I let it turn into a landfill while the suits play their games. So, to my fellow janitors, clerks, and unsung heroes of the federal workforce: keep your mops handy. To the politicians: maybe try passing a budget next time instead of treating the government like your personal reality TV show.

And to the American people: next time you vote, maybe pick someone who knows how to run a country without turning it into a clown car. Until then, I’ll be here, mopping up the mess, one coffee stain at a time.