Thoughts on having a maid, written as she cleans my stuff
Thoughts on having a maid, written as she cleans my stuff
What am I supposed to do while she cleans? I want to watch TV (Pushing Daisies is on), but I don’t want to just sit around and do nothing while she cleans around me. I feel like I should be working while she works, but it’s Sunday afternoon and I’m tired from waking up early to pre-clean. I'll watch TV on my computer - it looks like I’m working but I’m actually not. Our relationship is about compromise. That’s healthy.
How long has she been here already? An hour? Two? Ok, actually twenty minutes. This apartment is huge and I live here alone. I have five more rooms than I need. This is awful.
I know I just heard the sound of my suitcase being unzipped. Why is she opening my suitcase, which was under my bed?
So it turns out she folded all my dirty clothes and was putting them away in my suitcase for me.
Thoughts on ‘Thoughts on having a maid, written as she cleans my stuff’
Thoughts on Thoughts on ‘Thoughts on having a maid, written as she cleans my stuff’
I hope I cleaned up enough before she got here. I don’t want her to think I’m a dirty American slob and I don’t want her to have to work more for me than she does for other people. I wonder if other people pre-clean. I wonder if she does their dishes too. I wonder if she chats with them. etc.
Really? I don’t want her to think I’m a slob? So I ‘clean’? Or do I actually hide my stuff so she doesn’t think that I have a lot of stuff, because I like my stuff, and I don’t want her to steal it. And because maybe I feel a little guilty for having so much.
Why do I assume that all poor people are thieves? I know in my head that they aren’t. I have a liberal arts education for cripesake. I have friends who are homeless.
I have friends who are homeless? That’s like saying “Oh, I’m not racist. I have a black friend.” This is hopeless.
What am I supposed to do while she cleans? I want to watch TV (Pushing Daisies is on), but I don’t want to just sit around and do nothing while she cleans around me. I feel like I should be working while she works, but it’s Sunday afternoon and I’m tired from waking up early to pre-clean. I'll watch TV on my computer - it looks like I’m working but I’m actually not. Our relationship is about compromise. That’s healthy.
Is lack of time the only justifiable reason to hire a maid? Is the fact that I could very well be doing exactly what she is doing right now, I just have enough money to choose not to what’s really bothering me? I didn't even hire her. She came with the apartment!
Did the three episodes of Gossip Girl that I watched assuage any of my guilt about this? No. At the time it was mindless escapist internet TV, but now that I think about it, watching a TV show about a bunch of sodden, entitled prepsters on my shiny white laptop while a Peruvian woman mops around me makes me feel empty inside. I should have watched a Ken Burns documentary or something.
I keep trying to make eye contact and smile at her but she refuses to look me in the face. This makes me feel like a terrible white overlord, like I should be wearing supple leather boots and white gloves and using a riding crop to point to the cobwebs that she missed. I don’t even own a riding crop. I should offer her some tea.Tea. Tea to span the great chasms of culture and language and class. Great idea. maybe she can shine my riding crop while the kettle’s on.
I can’t just get up in her face and yell “Rise up, woman! Seize the means of production!” I don't even know how to say that in Spanish. Small steps.
How long has she been here already? An hour? Two? Ok, actually twenty minutes. This apartment is huge and I live here alone. I have five more rooms than I need. This is awful.
Ok, so fire her to clear your conscience. Then she gets less money to support her family. Good plan. Don’t be stupid. You have money and work that needs to be done, she has time to work and needs money. WWAynRandD? She would hire twelve more maids, smoke a bunch of cigarettes, and then hire twelve more.
So I just wikipediaed Ayn Rand, and she is maybe not the greatest role model.
I know I just heard the sound of my suitcase being unzipped. Why is she opening my suitcase, which was under my bed?
Hidden under my bed. Because it has all the stuff in it that I don’t want stolen. And she could really hide a lot of electronics under that full ethnic skirt of hers. Dear sweet Jesus, if she’s stealing my stuff, so help me...
Why do I care so much? I should let her liberate me from my earthly possessions and then thank her for helping me focus on what’s important.
Ok, that last part is crap. I’m very attached to stuff. I am an artist. I could never be Buddhist.
So it turns out she folded all my dirty clothes and was putting them away in my suitcase for me.
I feel like an ass.
Still feel like an ass. Tea and chocolate? Tea and chocolate and a wad of cash? Is that insulting? Will this awful cleanliness never cease?
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