Confessions of a Dirty Window

Hi. My name is Pane 34B.

You’ve probably walked past me hundreds of times. I’m the window on the fourth floor, northeast corner, just above that coffee shop where Janet always burns the muffins. I’ve seen things. Heard things. Felt things—mostly pollen, rain stains, and something unspeakable a pigeon left last Tuesday.

But more than anything, I’ve felt… forgotten.

You used to love me. Remember those early days? Back when I sparkled in the sunlight and people said things like, “Wow, this building looks so sharp!” I was proud. I was clean. I had clarity—literally and figuratively.

Then one day… you stopped noticing. You let time (and air pollution) take its toll. You gave up squeegees and started saying things like, “The rain will take care of it.” (Spoiler: It didn’t.)

I’m now so grimy I saw a fly try to clean me with a paper towel.

I’ve become the building’s cautionary tale. A glass tragedy.

But hope arrived last week—on ropes, in harnesses, armed with biodegradable cleaning solutions and bold confidence. That’s right. JOFFIE showed up.

And for the first time in years, I could breathe. I could see. They treated me with respect, like the structural beauty I am. They wiped away years of grime, guilt, and one very stubborn mustard smear (don’t ask).

So now I stand here gleaming, radiant, unapologetically transparent. People stop and stare again. Janet even smiled at her reflection—and we all know Janet doesn’t smile before noon.

So this is my plea to you—on behalf of all the forgotten windows in Charlotte, Raleigh, and beyond:

Call JOFFIE. Set us free. Let us shine again.

Yours squeakily,
Pane 34B