Confessions of a Cleaning Lady

The one that took my cleaning virginity...

The first house I ever cleaned for money was in a very upscale neighborhood. I mean, all of them subsequently have been pretty upscale but not like this one. It was in a gated community where a guard checked ID and license plates at the entrance.

Once inside, the visitor (or resident) was treated to a view of a majestic fountain complete with swans and geese, a grand antebellum style clubhouse, and an enormous resort grade swimming pool. I don't have to tell you it was immaculately landscaped, I'm sure that is implied.

What you may not have expected was the quaint small-town atmosphere. That's right. Literally this neighborhood was it's own virtually self contained town complete with a dry cleaner, coffee shop, bistro style wine bar and a salon and spa. I don't know if there were other actual shops or businesses within the community, I was already blown away by what I'd seen and I needed to put my eyes back on the perfect road so as not to hit anyone's ridiculously expensive car. Or ridiculously expensive golf cart.

There were quaint sidewalks with victorian style lanterns and medians overflowing with flowers, but I guess some of the residents didn't want to or couldn't walk there so they took a golf cart. I did see plenty of housewives (presumably?) and retirees (possibly?) out walking however. Some with dogs, some power walking with friends. There were contractor's trucks and cars with logos from corporate maid services coming and going, but I couldn't help but feel that I stood out like a sore thumb rollin' up in my abused 2003 Jeep Commander with my stickers for skateboard brands (courtesy of my husband), my public school support stickers (courtesy of my kids), any my "My other ride is a TARDIS" magnet (courtesy of my own nerdy ass). I looked around, but saw no stickers on anyone's cars parked in driveways.

I found the address my friend and cleaning partner-in-crime texted me (I'll call her Louise. Because that's her name) and parked along the street behind the custom stone mailbox. I walked what seemed like half a mile up to the massive double front doors and rang the bell. Beautiful tinkling chimes announced my presence on the wrap-around front porch, no common "diiiing donnnng" here. Lou came to the door to greet me and let me in. Believe me when I tell you, I'm super glad she got there first because my ass would've gotten lost on the way to the kitchen.

I had assumed no one would be home when we got there, but the woman of the house (read: boss) was still struggling to get herself and her two small children out the door. She worked full time, not sure what she did but I think it was something to do with pharmaceuticals and her kids were preschool and kindergarten ages. It was satisfying to see her frazzled struggle to get it together. Not because I wanted her to suffer, but because it was the first refreshingly relatable thing I had encountered upon entering this Stepford neighborhood.

The kids were cute, and typical. Complaining to their mother about wanting stuff and walking around in circles instead of finding their shoes. It was then that I decided I wanted to help this woman. Not because I was getting paid but because I got her.

I won't bore you with the details of the actual cleaning except her floors never ended. Hardwood everywhere. Also, when we cleaned her bathroom Lou found a dollar bill crumpled up like a piece of trash in the trash can.

The thing that struck me most about this house was it's loneliness. Four people in a 5 bedroom, 6 bath 7,000 square foot house with 3 floors and an elevator. That's a lotta free space. I noticed one of the spare bedrooms with an attached bath had been used recently. I thought at first someone had been visiting but after cleaning the house a few more times found out Mrs. had been sleeping in there. I never found out why, but I know if I had a master bedroom/bath with sitting room, fireplace, and custom closets like her you bet your ass I'd be sleeping there.

My mind wanders sometimes to this day how the daily dynamics of a house with a grand piano and an elevator work. We don't clean there anymore, she decided to quit her job to take care of the kids full time. Poor thing. I hope everyone is happy and gets along, but when a five year old has children's books in his room written by Rush Limbaugh it does induce a certain level of... skepticism. We never met Mr, I believe Mrs said he travels a lot for work. Which made me sympathize with her even more, to a point. I don't think I'll ever get to the point where I feel comfortable literally throwing money in the trash.