A third the way from Idaho Falls to Pocatello is a conveniently placed rest stop that I like to stop at on days where I want to get away from work but am in no particular hurry to get home. It's housed on a patch of lava formations. I've only been on the sightseeing trail once or twice, but it's pretty neat that it's there regardless of whether or not I actually take advantage of it.

One day I was on my way back from work when I stopped at the rest stop and was asked to give someone a jump. The man that asked me was Irvin and that was when I first met him. Irvin and I helped a courier get on his way from Montana down to Salt Lake City. Unfortunately his battery was too dead for my jump start to get him going. Irvin ended up driving him to Blackfoot so that he could buy a new battery.

Irvin is the caretaker of the Lava Formation Rest Stop. Every morning or afternoon I stop by I usually see him out and about doing something. Sometimes he says hello and we chat for a bit, other times he keeps his nose to the task ahead of him - whatever it might be.

I've seen a number of travellers come and go. A whole lot of them seem to go out of their way to litter up the place. Today I saw someone try to make a five foot shot with his McDonald's bag and declined to actually pick it up and throw it away when he missed. A lot of cigarette butts here and there. But day in and day out Irvin keeps the place presentable.

In elementary school we had Uncle Bud. Uncle Bud was the all-purpose janitor. He was extremely popular among the kids there (I'm guessing because he got to play in sludge and dirt we could only dream of). He was so popular with students and administrators - and he so loved the school that he worked for - that even when he retired he was kept around as the lunchroom monitor, switching the talk light that always seemed to be on yellow (whisper) and red (shut up) but never green (talk). He'd tell us to settle down and for the most part (to the best of our elementary school kid abilities) we listened.

The janitor of Seabrook Intermediate was a Hispanic man. Long after I left the school I still saw him at the Whataburger by the school on Saturday mornings. His English may not have been so great, but it probably was just fine and we never took the time to find out because playing in mess isn't quite as cool to junior high school kids as it is to gradeschoolers.

I never knew who the janitors were at Clear Lake High.

It's interesting how we sometimes lose site of those who clean up after our mess.