Happy To Be A Scrubber...

So I realised I wasn't cut out to work in the Takeaway Shop From Hades...

Then- somewhat out of the blue- my friend Bbbb turned to god and began attending a weird church (which expects her to wear a massive hanky on her head for their 'meetings') and got dunked in a giant font. I went and saw her and her husband get baptised- in an attempt to 'support' her new Self- but it played on my mind hard. I mean, I've been best friends with Bbbb for twenty eight years and never known her to be the religious type; and now she was standing in front of this god-Squad Assembly confessing to a drug and alcohol addiction she never had. I mean- it was only the occasional bong and beer for F's Sake.

It also pissed me off that Bbbb had failed to invite me to her wedding a few weeks prior to the baptism- she said it was for family members only. Which was why it was so hurtful when I later saw the photos. All her new Churchie mates had scored an invitation while my good self and 'proclaimed' best friend- and even her own Aunty Joan- had failed to make the cut. Needless to say it hurt. And I'm still not over it; the Lindt chocolates she gave me for Christmas last year remain untouched. I guess I'll get around to throwing them away soon.

Bbbb knew I was looking to get back into work; so when her church was looking for a part time cleaner she threw my name into the hat. It was only going to be for three hours a fortnight; fifty dollars in the hand. I told her she could give my number to the minister and waited to hear back from them. To cut a long story short; they didn't.

Fast forward a few weeks and I received a phone call from a man named Alan. He told me he got my number from the Minister of the Weird Church after mentioning he was in the hunt for a cleaning lady- at his elderly mother's house. Her name was Lorna and she was in her eighties; and Alan had recently moved in with her again after she'd had a fall. It was only a small two bedroom house so I accepted. We arranged I would clean once a fortnight on the Monday; and so I duly turned up the following week.

Alan gave me a quick tour of the house as Lorna was in bed, resting. I cleaned the bathroom first; working out how to clean the commode-chair for myself. I know it might sound silly but that commode-chair soon became the reason why I knew I wasn't meant to work as Lorna and Alan's cleaner. I just didn't think I could happily face every second Monday knowing that was what I had in store. So even though I went a further three Mondays to Lorna's house to clean I already had it in my mind that I would look for something else. I wouldn't have had the job very long anyway, if the recent SOLD sign on the house had anything to do with it. It seems Lorna must have passed away, around Christmas time last year.

Cleaning was still a good option, though; it fits in with the kid's school hours which means I can be there with them before and after school without having to rely or pay for sitters or afterschool care. And while I may have a degree I flinch at the idea of working in an office environment. I've tried it before and know myself well enough to know how bored I get. And if I'm bored I won't go. So I'd rather not set myself up to fail in a job I'd hate.

This pisses off my Hubby and Mother because they want me to earn a decent living; and somehow they both fail to see that Any work is a step in the right direction for me- being as I've been out of the workplace for fifteen years. I'm sick of the argument they have; so what if I COULD be earning sixty grand a year working at the Tax Office or it's equivalent? You wouldn't know it to look at my recent resume but I've always preferred it when I Do work to be doing something physical and if possible 'outdoorsey'; I was a Racehorse Strapper in the Buffoon-World pre-kids pre-alcoholism and depression life. And I loved working at Wendy's Ice-Creamery when I was a teenager. If you're not sweating you're not working. Besides, I don't like the idea of giving someone else the use of my brain for the day. And I would hate it if I had to 'take work home' with me for any reason- especially that 'office politics' crap. Me; I like to get my work done and go home. Or alternatively; the pub.

So I started scouring the internet and local papers for jobs. I did apply for one job in a second-hand book shop but never heard back- so when I saw a advertisement for a position as a contract cleaner with Dennis the Penis I gave him a call...

My job was to help people get their rental bonds back; primarily cleaning empty houses for a base rate of twenty dollars an hour. I took all my own cleaning equipment but the real benefit of this job was that once the job was over- no matter how disgusting it was- I never had to repeat it again- unlike my previous job of cleaning Lorna's pooey commode every fortnight. And if the house was too putrid I could walk away from it; though I only did that once.

My first house cleaning job for Dennis' company was for a young Law student named Allison. It was a beautiful apartment in the inner-city and would easily have set her and her (one)flatmate back at least four hundred a week. Pretty good student digs, I thought, as I swept up the thousand or so pubic hairs in the bathroom. I realised they must have had money to burn when I vacuumed up a red Ecstasy pill from the lounge room; too late- I would have eaten the thing myself if my reaction had been but one second slower.Still, Allison was pleased she didn't have to do the hard work herself, and better still was that I had eighty dollars in my pocket just four hours later.

The following week I cleaned a beautiful new house in one of my Town's best suburbs; the owner wanted the house meticulous for a photo shoot to display the Architect's design in a glossy mag. It took me (and another cleaner who worked for Dennis) seven hours to clean all forty two windows, three bathrooms, four bedrooms, chef's kitchen, library, gym room and billiard's room- but I came away from it with my hundred and forty dollars and at least feeling like I had worked hard for it.

Then there was Bebette's house. She was an elderly lady whose regular cleaner called in sick- so I was offered two hours work at her small unit. She followed me like a hawk; scrutinising my every move- even demanding to know 'What's In Your Hand' after I had vacuumed beneath the lounge cushions. She probably thought I had lucked on to a twenty dollar note or something- but it was actually a sandwich crust- at least three weeks old by the look of it- left behind she told me, embarrassed I hoped, after she had basically implied me to be a sneaky thief, by her grandkids.

Kath's house was an real eye-opener; filthy with crumbs and cockroach shit...

Chad's purple unit was pristine; and Adam's a delight. In fact the bachelor's pad's generally always were.

Then there was Ambrose. Dennis was suspicious of him right from the start- saying that from the sound of the house it was going to be in a real mess- and told me just to do my best. I collected the key from the letterbox and walked in- to utter filth. The furniture had all been removed so I could plainly see the inch-thick dust on every skirting board. The cupboards in the kitchen were full of bug and rat crap and the bathroom had to be seen to be believed- there was green and black slime everywhere. Every single wall- right up to the roof- was covered in black mould; and so I rang Dennis and told him I wouldn't be taking the job. It was the only one I shirked but can you really blame me? It would have taken a team of three or four industrial cleaners about a week to even make a dent in that pig sty.

I received my one and only complaint after cleaning Nathan's house; he had failed to tell Dennis wh nhe booked me that the house he was living in was partly furnished- and got quite irate when I failed to clean out the fridge, microwave and around the pots and pans in the cupboard. Hey- he only had to say. And I thought I did pretty well considering I was coming down and hungover from hell.

After that one complaint though, it seemed there was hardly any work and Dennis' calls became few and far between. I only got offered one three-hour job in the whole of November and December was almost as sparse. It was about then that I got a text message from my friend M- who works as a cleaner at one of the swankier hotel chains in Town- with the Summer holidays coming up many of the regular ladies weren't going to be able to do all of their shifts and still have someone to look after their kids- so I got the call up to do at least two shifts a week over the Christmas period and the promise that if I worked out okay it would lead to more regular work next (this) year.

So that's what I'm doing with myself these days; in case some of you are wondering where I've been lately. The extra money has been coming in pretty handy and it's nice not to have to ask my Hubby for fifty bucks if I want to splash out on something for me or the kids. It's been fun working with M too- since 'losing' Bbbb to the weird-arse church she's become my new best friend. I'm even going to be her bridesmaid when she gets married next year (and No it's Not to Golden Shower Boy- even though she was fucking him when I first met her; even she has no idea What came over her- no pun intended).

In short; Life is better than it has been in a long while. I get on well with all the other girls at work too, and even though I work damn hard for my little pay packet, at the end of the week I'm still WAY WAY happier being a scrubber than I ever would be as a pen-pushing career girl.

So my Mother and Hubby will just have to get over it, I guess.