Shouting through the depths of the basement, the maintenance supervisor nearly strained his vocal cords.
"How long am I supposed to spend hunting you down? Steve, quit slacking! You need to clear out the courtyard over at Building Fifteen. The leaves have piled up like crazy—people are practically drowning in them."
Picking up his broom and shovel, the maintenance worker trudged toward the address, muttering a colorful critique of his boss under his breath. Steve had been working for the city's public works department for five years and had never once let management down. Lately, however, people had noticed a certain sluggishness about him. It was as if he were performing his duties under duress. No one knew exactly what was wrong with him, and frankly, no one cared to find out. Everyone had their own headaches to deal with.
Half an hour later, he arrived at the courtyard. Surveying the mountains of leaves blanketing the asphalt, he gripped his broom and began sweeping them into a pile. At that moment, a beautiful woman walked by. She was dripping in expensive jewelry and talking to someone on her phone. Steve found himself staring, and the stranger seemingly felt his gaze. Turning around, she made a mocking face at him.
"Keep working, Neanderthal," she snapped. "Stop staring and do your job."
With a heavy sigh, Steve didn't offer a comeback. Instead, he began sweeping the fallen leaves even more vigorously. This was the harsh reality: when you were lower on the social ladder, you couldn't say a word. It wasn't just that you were being insulted; you were put in a position where there was no light at the end of the tunnel. In that moment, Steve felt like he was level with the dirt—maybe even lower. Little did he know that soon, the situation would shift radically, and it remained to be seen who would end up where.
***
The supervisor arrived at the courtyard, looked around, and spoke sternly.
"Listen, Steve, you've got exactly two hours. Don't dawdle. After this, you need to sweep the area around City Hall. Look, I feel for you because you’re a hard worker, but keep in mind that everyone’s patience has a limit."
Steve never forgot that, mostly because his boss reminded him daily. Once the courtyard was clear, the supervisor drove him over to the City Hall district himself. There, Steve relaxed a bit. The administrative staff treated him with respect, and besides, a neighbor of his worked there as a security guard. They lived in the same apartment complex.
Quickly figuring out where to start, Steve finished the job in thirty minutes. The supervisor had driven off, assuming the task would take longer, and wasn't around to give him a new assignment. Waving him over, the guard invited Steve into his small office.
"Come on in, pal. No sense standing out in the cold. I just put the kettle on; let's grab a bite. Man, your boss is really on a warpath lately. Yesterday he brought two new guys down here, and they made such a mess the Chief of Staff chewed them out so loud you could hear it a mile away. Apparently, they can’t get by without you, but hey, it's good to be the favorite."
It was a nice compliment, yet Steve took a sip of his tea and reacted with a certain sadness. Seeing this, the guard asked quietly, "What's up, Steve? You feeling sick or something?"
Steve lowered his head. "No, Mr. Miller. It’s just... someone treated me like dirt today. Like I was nothing."
Pointing a finger at the door as if someone were standing there, the guard asked, "You talking about your boss? Don't sweat it. He doesn't mean anything by it; he still values you."
Steve took another sip. "No, it's not the boss. He’s actually a decent guy, just has a temper. A beautiful woman called me a 'Neanderthal' today. Can you believe that?"
The guard nearly burst out laughing. "Steve, she was giving you a compliment! Forgive me, but my first wife used to say a man only needs to be slightly more handsome than a monkey. Consider yourself lucky—you’re a whole step up the evolutionary ladder!"
Steve couldn't help but laugh at the comparison. "That’s a good one, Mr. Miller. I'll have to remember that. But seriously, it’s not a great feeling when someone insults you for no reason. I just looked her way. That’s not a crime, is it?"
The guard smiled again. "Don't let it get to you. She was probably just afraid you’d steal her beauty. People are strange like that. I've even started believing in the supernatural myself. For instance, my neighbor..."
He didn't get to finish because the supervisor’s car pulled up. Glancing toward the door, the guard added, "I'll tell you the rest later. It’s a riot."
The supervisor walked in, assessed the work, and stepped close to Steve, sliding a few twenty-dollar bills into his pocket.
"This is a bonus from the city—they asked me to make sure you were taken care of. I see you didn't waste any time?" He nodded toward the guard. Steve stuttered, trying to find the words to explain, but the boss cut him off. "Relax, I know you work hard. Chatting with the guard isn't a crime. But listen, if I get a single complaint about you, I don't care about your past record."
Nodding in agreement, Steve got into the car, and half an hour later, he was home. The boss had let him off early since the work was done on time and without any issues. The moment he stepped through the door, he heard his mother's voice from the kitchen.
"Honey, come to the table! I made your favorite beef barley soup."
Steve, at thirty-two, still lived with his mother. At that age, most men have families of their own, but he had no one on the horizon. It was a bit sad, though Steve didn't seem to dwell on it too much. Sitting down, he looked at his mother.
"Tell me, is it right to judge a person based solely on how they look?"
Stepping back as if he were a hot stove, his mother, Martha, replied, "Well, what can I say? Appearance matters. If someone doesn't take care of themselves, people are going to react accordingly. First impressions are everything."
But that wasn't what Steve wanted to hear. "I get that. But what if you're in your work clothes because you're actually working, and someone tells you that you look barely better than a caveman?"
A slight smile played on Martha’s lips. "Sorry, honey, I couldn't help it. Who called you that?"
Realizing his mother wasn't being mean, Steve replied, "Some woman at the courtyard where I was clearing leaves today. She walked by, and when I looked at her, she called me a Neanderthal."
Martha laughed again, this time covering her mouth with a napkin. "Steve, dear, a Neanderthal isn't a monkey—it's much closer to a human!"
Steve shrugged his shoulders dejectedly. "Not you too, Mom. I didn't expect that from you. Anyway, pass the soup. I'm starving. People come up with the craziest names."
It was only then that his mother realized her son was actually thinking about his personal life. Finally, the moment had come to say it.
"Steve, it’s time you got married. Otherwise, you’ll be alone until you’re old."
Grabbing a spoon, her son replied, "I knew it. You just want to ship me off to some woman as fast as you can."
Martha looked a bit flustered; she hadn't expected him to take it that way. To smooth things over, she said, "No, Steve. You’re my only child, and I’d never let anyone hurt you. But marriage is a natural part of life. There's nothing wrong with it."
After a short pause, Steve chose to believe her. "Sorry, I took that the wrong way. I thought you were tired of having me around. Look, I’m over thirty, but I’m just not ready for a family yet. Sure, beautiful women get a reaction out of me, that’s normal, but I haven't seen one I could actually love. Even that stuck-up woman who called me a Neanderthal—she was probably just made for looking at, nothing more."
Martha ran her hand through his hair. "Don't worry, son. One day you’ll have your own family. For now, I’m here, and I hope you’re happy with that."
Steve nodded. "You’re right, Mom. And thanks for dinner. It was great."
Martha watched him leave, then put the dishes in the sink. Her son went to his room and didn't come out for the rest of the evening. It had been an uncomfortable talk, but she had told him what no one else would: he needed to move on from his illusions. Steve was afraid to admit even to himself that the woman had caught his eye. He had reacted with irony just to hide his true feelings. Deep down, he was probably ready to forgive her for the insult just to see her again. It was written all over his face; even the guard at City Hall had noticed him blushing when they joked about it.
Who would have thought a single encounter—if you could even call it that—would stir his heart so much? Sitting at his computer, Steve scrolled through the news to distract himself from his emotions. As he cooled off, he realized you shouldn't take every word to heart. He began to see the meeting as some kind of sign from fate.
***
The next morning, Steve didn't just walk to work; he practically soared. Meeting his boss near the office, he gave him a cheerful greeting.
"Good morning, Mr. Henderson! Good to see you."
The supervisor was so surprised he actually sat down on a nearby bench.
"Well, look at you. I didn't think anyone came to this job with a smile on their face. Honestly, I'd rather stay home and sleep. But you know how it is—this place would fall apart without me. Who’d give the orders?"
Steve took the comment in stride. He reached for his broom, but the boss stopped him.
"Hold on, don't be in such a rush. I’ve got a special assignment for you. In half an hour, Bill will be here. You’re going with him to the old abandoned textile mill. There’s a major sewage backup. He’ll pump it out, and you’ll clean up the site. After that, you can head home for the day."
That was the best news he’d heard all morning. "Understood, sir. I’ll get it done right."
Steve had a reputation to maintain, after all. Thirty minutes later, Bill pulled up, looking like he’d been dragged out of bed by his hair. He grumbled at Steve.
"Every time something bursts, I’m the one they send to plug the hole. Whatever, hop in. Let’s get this over with so we can go home. My wife is visiting her mother today, so we could grab a couple of drinks after."
Steve got the hint but declined. "No thanks, Bill. Let's skip the drinks. I know you're a social guy, but I’d rather stay sharp."
Bill waved him off. "Suit yourself. Why do I always get the straight-edge partners?"
The area they were heading to was notorious for sewer blockages, and Bill took the shortcut. Along the way, he tried to entertain Steve with some old, tired jokes. Steve didn't react, and finally, the driver snapped.
"What’s with the long face? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"
Steve didn't want to argue, so he just said, "I'm fine. It just smells like a locker room in this cab. You ever think about airing it out? You're starting to smell like the job."
Bill laughed it off. "Fair point. I'll tell the wife to get one of those pine tree air fresheners."
They soon arrived at the mill. Bill looked around and barked an order. "I’ll turn the truck around. You grab the hook and pop the manhole cover. It’s in the cab, remember?"
The hook was heavy enough, but the cover felt like it weighed half a ton. Steve struggled with it, and Bill, predictably, didn't lift a finger to help. He was clearly still annoyed about the rejected drinks and the lack of laughs. After five minutes of wrestling, the cover finally gave way.
Steve turned pale. Peering inside, he saw a large black plastic bag and, right next to it, a woman's handbag. Panic seized him.
"What do I do? What is this?"
Bill was backing the truck up. Steve stood frozen, his feet seemingly bolted to the pavement. The driver noticed and waved from the cab. "Give me a signal! How much room do I have?"
Unable to break the paralysis, Steve gasped for air, trying to find his voice. Bill lost his patience, killed the engine, and hopped out. He was only ten feet away when Steve noticed the black bag move. Steve let out a cry and fell to his knees. Bill ran over, looked into the manhole, and went white as a sheet.
"My God... what is that?"
Steve regained a bit of composure. "I don't know, but the bag is moving."
He looked down again and realized why the handbag looked familiar. He had seen it before. Steve clutched his head, muttering to himself. Bill thought he was having a breakdown. "Do I need to call a doctor for you?"
Shaking his head, Steve began searching the ground. "We need a rope. We have to get that bag out."
Bill put his hands on his hips. "Forget the rope. I’m going down there; you help me lift. And call 911. Get the police down here now."
Just as he said it, a muffled groan came from the bottom of the hole. Without a second thought, Bill jumped down and started hoisting the bag. Even with Steve’s help, it was a struggle. When they finally tore the plastic open, they found a woman inside. It was her—the "stuck-up woman" who had called him a Neanderthal. Steve’s fists clenched in a momentary flash of anger, but then a police cruiser rounded the corner, followed closely by an ambulance.
***
The woman was lucky; the fall hadn't killed her, though she had plenty of other injuries. After a quick assessment, the paramedics—with Bill and Steve's help—loaded her into the ambulance and rushed her to the hospital. The police processed the scene, took photos, and left without asking many questions at first.
A day later, Steve was called into the station to give a formal statement. He told them he had seen the woman before.
"Yes, she walked past me while I was working on Main Street, near Building Fifteen."
He decided to leave out the part about her calling him a name. The officer, in turn, shared the grim details: it turned out the woman's ex-boyfriend had tried to get rid of her. He had beaten her and dumped her in the manhole, hoping she’d never be found in such a desolate industrial zone. He assumed she wouldn't survive the fall. By some miracle, she had. They managed to catch the guy just as he was about to skip town the next morning, thanks to the woman regaining consciousness long enough to give a shaky description of her attacker.
As they finished the paperwork, the officer thanked Steve for his alertness and added, "By the way, they’re expecting you at the hospital. Don't be a stranger; go check on her."
Steve was hesitant, but when he told his mother the whole story, she insisted he go. That same afternoon, he walked into her hospital room.
"Excuse me. They told me you wanted to speak with me."
The woman was lying in bed, weak but able to talk. "Thank you for saving my life. I remembered where I knew you from... and I’m so sorry for what I said to you that day."
Steve began visiting her more often. Soon after she was discharged, their friendship turned into something serious. It turned out she owned a small business and was in desperate need of a reliable manager. Steve eventually left his job at the city, and it looks like wedding bells are in their future. As for the ex-boyfriend, he received the maximum sentence possible.
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