Steve works at my school.
No one is exactly sure what his precise role is. Caretaker? Probably. But it doesn't seem to say enough to describe Steve.
Everyone loves Steve. At the end of year 11 the students who are leaving beg to have a photo with Steve. But ssssh because that's not technically legal.
Completely by chance, I found out where Steve lives.
And oh how I bragged. Cower before me, for I know where Steve lives.
Steve always directs the cars on parents' evenings etc. Naturally, in his stylish high-vis jacket. He's nearly always in high-vis come to think of it. And his hat. His Steve hat. Bowlers, top hats, fedoras, flat caps- Steve Hats.
My parents once asked who he was.
"Steve"
"Steve who?"
"he's Steve. STEVE."
"is he the caretaker?"
"yeah...no... He's Steve."
My favourite Steve moment involved a fight in the dining hall between some boys a few years above me.
It started with the two main contenders, but their friends instantly began running across the room to provide support- dinner trays and year sevens were sent flying as boys leapt over tables.
Into the fray charges Steve, a burning fury in his eyes. As the originators of the trouble fell to the floor in a, frankly unmistakably homoerotic wrestle, Steve strides forward, straight past the main tussle, ignoring it, as well as the figures leapfrogging furniture.
He points to a boy at the edge of the spectators.
"OI! Get that hat off when you're inside!"
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