That Whole Cleaning Thing In 500 Words

I quit my housekeeping gig. A lot of it had to do with my car. When you’re getting paid the bare minimum and having to use your own vehicle to constantly travel, you’re making even less for gas compensation and wear & tear. Dirt roads, highway miles and shitty driveways equaled wear. Then there was an incident that resulted in a small tear in my front bumper. I was as pissed as I was done.

Now I always assumed that I was the sort of person that dug adventurous explorations but being in other people’s houses was just plain creepy as shit. I never got used to it. I hated their accumulative smells, their photo arrangements, their children’s toothpaste splattered on the bathroom mirror, their little dog eyeballing me from room to room… it was always the same. It was never my home – just a bogus find every time that I had to wipe down and make nice before I could leave.

The absolute last thing I want to do when I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing a floor is make idle chit chat with the homeowners and pretend to be interested in their open houses, gardening projects and basement remodels. Why yes, I’ll make sure to take my toothbrush to your Jacuzzi jets. Oh, you had guests and so there is an entire extra wing of your home that will need a good clean?

Then I would be running in to my full time job, throwing on my uniform in the security room and walking immediately to the floor for the last half of the day. Food did not get bought. Dinners did not get done. Everyone else’s home was cleaner than mine was. I knew it just wasn’t working for me.

Sometimes my employer would assign me to her home and I would go over there and proceed to clean her house from the basement up while she went about her business. One morning she told me to go out, grab the leaf blower and get started on her back deck. Then she might have me shucking corn or dicing mushrooms. It was unnerving and oddly unsettling for to work for the lady who was supposed to be the best example, who used “us” when she referred to the work that I did – but seemed to have everyone else doing the work. Then again, perhaps it was the best example of how a team of slaves help you live the good life.

I will say this much: I can clean the fuck out of a toilet, which I had never bothered with, before. I learned about high dusting and various chemicals for different surfaces. I got to use an assortment of vacuums and products that helped me form my own ideals for getting jobs done. And I learned that no worldly possession is worth slapping on to a credit card that requires a second job in order to pay off the balance.


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