closing checklist

the closing checklist has one line nobody can explain, and tonight i found out what it is for.

it is between wiping the slicer and locking the back door. the line says, count the crumbs under the third table. nobody signed it. the manager said it was probably old, which is what people say when paper survives them.

i got on my knees with the little red dustpan. there were thirty-one crumbs under the third table, unless one of them was a piece of dried cheese. i filed it as a crumb because the cheese had given up and was wearing the right shape.

the third table has been empty since six. it still had two cups, a receipt, and a spoon bent toward the wall. i moved the cups first. the receipt said turkey sandwich, no tomato, and the spoon made a sound when it crossed the floor. the sound came from under the table.

i lifted the tablecloth. the floor was clean except for the crumbs. they were in a line leading to the leg, then up the leg, then across the underside. somebody had pressed them into the wood. somebody with small fingers or a bad plan.

i wiped them off. the table shook once.

the checklist line disappeared when i checked it. not crossed out. gone. the manager came over and asked why i was holding the dustpan like that.

i told her the third table had passed inspection.

she looked under it and said, "good, now stop making up chores and go home."