MUNCIE, INDIANA—63-year-old Mason Hall janitor Carl Freiberg told inquisitive high school junior Stan Mink that, despite his enigmatic past, he “doesn’t do that anymore.” When asked about how he made a living prior to becoming a janitor, Freiberg gave only the vague remark and then briskly walked to the supply closet without another word.
“I was really only wondering if he used to like be in sales or something but Jesus, with that answer? What do you think he meant by it?”
“He just looked down at the ground for a few seconds like he was remembering something unspeakably painful, and then told me he doesn’t do it anymore,” Mink continued.
Further adding to the mystery is an assortment of items that Freiberg keeps by his desk, including a beeper from the 1980s that still goes off at all hours of the day, a picture of him and a group of bearded men wearing black sunglasses in the middle of the desert, and a fully-functional depression era iron lung.
Sources close to Freiberg have also reported that he often wakes up in a cold sweat, screaming about “Melinda” and pleading to “take him instead.”
At press time, Freiberg was seen muttering to himself in the 1st floor Mason hall men’s bathroom, muttering that he couldn’t believe that he’d managed to get roped into “one last job” but he better go through with it “before the whole motherfucker burns to the ground.”