that time I was a maid

I actually kind of miss it sometimes.

It was in 2010 that my attempts to infiltrate Seattle via staffing agency were proving to be unsuccessful. Several weeks of this had given my self-esteem a hearty blow and I began to distract myself by completing organizing tasks for my landlady. Never the one to be known for my cleaning abilities, I had the unprecedented inspiration to start applying for housekeeping jobs instead of the receptionist positions that I had been after. With this tiny change in perspective, I had found a job by the very next day.

My first day required me to attend the MaidPro University. This consisted of VHS tapes from the early 2000s demonstrating the proper way to fold toilet paper into flowers and outdated instructions on how to clock in and out of each new house. Of course there was also useful information such as how to dry mop a floor and the best order for cleaning rooms in a house (wet rooms first, then dry; top to bottom). While this might sound depressing I was actually incredibly excited for this new challenge in my life. When I returned home that evening, I practiced my new origami skills in all the bathrooms of the house and bought a new pair of shoes to match my stark white MaidPro t-shirts. It may sound strange, but I was thrilled.

In-person training was a bit different than video training. For one, my instructor didn't speak English and my Spanish was just bad enough for me to accidentally insult her several times. We had a particularly memorable moment at Jack-in-the-Box when I wanted to compliment her handbag. In Spanish the word handbag is "bolsa" but I got the word mixed up and accidentally  pointed to her bag and told her I liked her "basura" which means garbage. After her initial shock, she understood what I had meant and we both lapsed into belly-deep laughter for a good several moments. She was a terrific woman and a hell of a housekeeper. Her name was Rosa.

She taught me how to work five times faster than I had ever thought possible. She had great personal touches like smoothing the microfiber couches and chairs into a nice, swoopy pattern before moving on to the next room and double-checking all of the chrome in the bathroom for an impenetrable shine. She was sweet and happy and ready to work every day and I thought she was just the bees knees. (Don't worry, nothing bad happens to Rosa in this story I just wanted to give her a shout out for making my transition from useless white girl to effective housekeeper painless and enjoyable.)

Once I started working on my own, the job took on some new aspects that I hadn't anticipated. For one, my appalling directional skills were put on display as I was tasked with finding each new house via printed out google maps. Secondly, I learned the joys of stay-at-home moms who hire housekeepers simply so that they can follow them around and give them step-by-step instructions over their shoulder rather than actually doing any of the cleaning themselves. And I tell you what, I learned new levels of stress when I was given a three-story house and asked to clean it top to bottom in four hours. Coming home drenched in sweat was the norm rather than the exception, especially with how many houses in Seattle have nothing but hardwood floors throughout.

But my god did I see some ridiculously nice houses. I spent my first few months working on the east side which meant I was cleaning houses in Kirkland, Bellevue, Sammamish, Issaquah, Redmond and the surrounding areas. These are the neighborhoods where the Seahawks and Microsoft executives have their homes. I cleaned one home that was so large I actually got lost in it. They had more than one room that was an entirely devoted child's playroom and more than four stories as it was built on the back of a hill overlooking Lake Washington. I mean, I wouldn't want to live there during an earthquake but I wouldn't mind spending more time in a place like that.

The time I spent working on the west side had me in places like Downtown Seattle, Freemont, Everett, Greenlake and the other neighborhoods where the young and trendy rich folks lived. My favorite was a house built over a creek whose burbling you could hear as you enjoyed the view from the floor to ceiling windows in the front sitting room. The bedroom was built as a loft above rather than a separate chamber so over the railing of the balcony you could see onto the stream even while lying in bed. And I will never understand it as long as I live but these people smoked in their home and every time I came to clean I had to begin by flushing all the cigarette butts that lived in their toilet. That absolutely blew my mind.

I had some scary moments as well. There was the old lady who lived alone eating rotten bacon and talking to her deceased relatives while I was cleaning her house. There was an old man who would always try to touch my waist and offer me Dick's burgers (not a euphemism......I think). There was the house with the dog who would attack you if you forgot to use a towel instead of of your duster on a stick because he saw the fluffy, pink tool as something threatening. And, of course, there was the old man who used to "accidentally" walk into the room completely naked while his housekeepers were doing their job. (Thank God I never had to clean for that man, I don't know what I would have done in that situation).

But despite all that, I had some really great days as a housekeeper. There were some mornings where I loved the task of waking up early, heading to a strangers private residence, and putting their homes in neat and tidy order for them to enjoy when they arrived home from work. This was especially satisfying in homes where I never met the owners. I made up stories in my head about who they were and how much they appreciated what I did for them. I had specific tableaus for the kids' stuffed animals and an order I used for arranging all the toiletry bottles on the nightstand. I imagined their big smiles and sighs of contentment as they walked into their house and noticed all the personal touches I left for them. It may sound strange, but I loved going to the houses that were an absolute wreck and making a huge improvement to them before I left for the day. I can't express how much I hated the big, clean houses that just needed some dusting but if I went into a place that looked my brothers had been left alone in them for months without ever touching a sponge, I was blissful. Here was clear, concrete evidence of the impact I had on the world that day and so I went home sore and satisfied.

Even though there were downsides to what I was doing, the pay was not one of them. Heck, I was making more than I had at my last job as a bank teller. And maybe that's where the enjoyment really came in, I finally had a job that didn't disgust me down to my very core. In fact, I have a clear memory of cleaning the bathroom for a woman with ceaselessly squalling twins when the following thought put a giant grin on my face as I wiped the pubic hairs from the toilet seat; well, at least I'm not working at Wells Fargo.