"It ain't that deep--just pick up your stuff."

The title is a quote from an essay in a book I got for Christmas. It's a collection of essays of people writing about, as the book's title says, Dirt. Or, more fully, Dirt: The Quirks, Habits, and Passions of Keeping House. It's been interesting to see how differently people can feel about cleaning or the lack thereof. The quote is from an essay by an African American academic, whose ancestors were slaves and then domestic servants, so for her, cleaning is a very conflicted topic. What for me is just an issue of hygiene, is for her a long history of social and economic inequality and oppression. For a lot of years she resisted cleaning, reveling in dirtiness as freedom from that oppression. Then, she realized, it's just dirt.

The summer I turned 19 I worked as a maid. I was home for the summer, and nobody wanted to hire me for just three months. So, I ended up at a housekeeping service with the word "American" in the title. Which, now that I think of it, there were remarkably few Hispanics working there. But that is neither here nor there. They handed out uniforms of navy cotton shorts and blue work shirts that had snaps instead of buttons, an American flag patch sewn on one sleeve, and came in sizes large and larger. I think mine was probably an extra-larger-er. (Once my sometimes boyfriend dropped by before I'd had time to change after work, and although he was usually very kind and tactful, laughed out loud.) I'd probably rank this as the second worst job I've ever had, right in front of working for a verbally abusive Turkish woman selling, of all things, jewelery, in, of all places, a mall.  I don't really wear jewelery. I hate malls. Worst job ever.

But I can't say I wish I'd never had this job, because I learned a lot. The experiences you don't enjoy teach you the most, unfortunately. I grew up doing housework, so I knew how to clean. But on my first day, the head maid took me into the master bath. "This is how you clean a toilet." I watched her do the first bathroom, then I did the next. She pointed out all the things I missed. "Get a toothbrush and clean right up against the edge." By the end of the week I was sailing through her inspections, and by the end of the summer, I was inspecting the newbies' work. I think this was my mom's favorite of all my jobs, because when I would clean her house, I would attack random places that grime collects, like light switches and the buttons on the phone. I learned about pumice stones, and never to use Comet on natural stone. I also learned that if you spend the summer on your knees washing other people's floors by hand (mops were verboten), your knees will retain a greenish tinge for weeks from the bruises. And even if the smell of cigarette smoke makes you nauseated, people will still think you're a snob if you don't join them on a smoke break.

I learned a lot about my coworkers, yes, because I spent hours and days interacting with them. But you can also learn a lot about people from an empty house. I was glad I was stuck cleaning bathrooms the day we cleaned the house next to the church I attended growing up, because I didn't have to see--and clean around--his interesting bedroom collection. Hearing about it was enough. I also heard about, but never had to visit, the house in Layton where teenage girls would deposit used tampons on the floor, where they had just missed the garbage. I'm pretty sure that house was breeding the next generation of people who pay other people to clean up their filth.

One house I particularly remember was a home in Layton. The mom was home, with two or three young kids. She came to the door in her pajamas; she worked from home in real estate, or accounting. She was very gracious, and extremely excited about our work. And no wonder, because that place was a dump. I was kitchen maid that day, and had the unusual task of cleaning out the fridge, which was an exercise in science fair projects. Maybe when my kids get older we'll explore how many months it takes for a potato to go moldy in the fridge. I know it's got to be a while, for while I've seen many rotten potatoes, I've never seen another one so far gone it's growing white fuzz. Really, what is so important in your life that you can't throw away your own rotting food?


I was very glad to quit that job and get back to my "real life." And I'm very glad my life has taken a direction that I don't need to rely on my housekeeping skills for my income; I have the luxury of being messy if I'd like. Although I was once a professional cleaner, my house isn't professionally clean. I don't dust my light fixtures every time I clean the bathroom; I don't lemon oil my cabinets weekly. I held out for years, but I finally bought a mop. I don't inspect my husband's cleaning and point out the things he missed, like I did when we were newlyweds. But I do have respect for people who have a job to do and do it well, who take satisfaction in doing their best even in what many people would consider a menial job.

I think a lot of people would envy our clientele; who wouldn't like to not have to clean? Cleaning is a mundane job. As soon as it's done it needs to be redone. But, could I afford it, I don't think I would choose it. My life is not so important, my time not so valuable that I can't clean up my own mess. I want my kids to grow up knowing how to clean a bathroom. I want them to take ownership in their home; to know the work that goes into making a place habitable and welcoming. I hope they'll learn the satisfaction of doing any job, even the unpleasant ones, well. That's a lesson my parents worked very hard to teach me, and if it's learned right, goes far beyond the realm of putting one's socks away.