Have you ever taken a job you didn’t want? Did you regret it, or did you make the best of your circumstances?

 

In tough times, you may have few choices. This becomes apparent

in . . .

 

 

The Cleaning Lady’s Dilemma

 

     Life doesn’t always work out the way you want it to. Elisa and I had good jobs until the economy began to take a turn for the worse. Then we found ourselves unemployed. Not knowing where to turn, we searched the web and the only thing that jumped out at us was, “Cleaning People Wanted.”

     When we called the phone number, we discovered the openings were at a senior community called “Ocean Park Villa.” To our amazement, they asked us only one question, “When can you report?”

     A week later Elisa and I began our new careers, as maids to the elderly. It was then we realized what we had gotten ourselves into.

     We were assigned to assist the community’s theater group in putting on its shows. Well, not exactly putting them on, but cleaning up before, during, and after each performance. This is when we found out old-timers could be congenial, but also our worst nightmare.

     It was Sunday, the second week in July—our first performance. We’d had a brief orientation and were told we were ready to go.

     When we arrived at the theater, we discovered this was what they referred to as an “open performance”—no curtains to hide behind. The cast members stayed in the green room, a place to wait until they came on stage. Once they made their appearance, they never left.

     And we had to do our entire cleanup in front of the audience. What we didn’t know was that they used hanging microphones, so if we talked to one another, everything could be heard.

     “Okay ladies, it’s your cue. Go make sure that everything is ready for us to begin the show. And don’t be afraid to converse with each other, as you work,” the director stated.

     I looked at Elisa. She was shaking. And I was trembling. We left the green room and entered the stage. All the seats were full in the house. The lights were on, but low, and the stage lights were bright and scary.

     Not wanting to look at the audience, we began to talk to one another about what we’d experienced in helping the cast get ready for the performance.

     Elisa looked at me and said, “Sally, cleaning up after old people is a grueling task.”

     “You can say that again, Elisa,” I replied.

     “Cleaning up after old people . . .”

     “Oh, stop it! Just tell me why it’s so grueling.”

     “Well, one old codger in the green room had half the toilet paper from the bathroom coming out of his pants,” Elisa moaned.

     “So, did you help him clean up?” I asked.

     “Yeah, but there was poop all over the paper. I almost threw up my lunch,” Elisa groaned.

     “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, in amazement.

     “Nope. And that was just the beginning.”

     “Just the beginning of what?” I queried.

     “Another old fogy lost his hearing aids. Said he was part of a duet and he couldn’t hear his partner,” Elisa stated, as though I’d care.

     “So, how’s that your problem?”

     “Well, he made me crawl around on the floor until I found them.”

     “Did you tape them to his ears after that?” I asked, with a laugh.

     “How’d you know?” Elisa said, surprised.

     “Just a wild guess.”

     “Then, as I started mopping up a spill on the floor, one of the aged gals leaned over and whispered in my ear.”

     “That’s strange.”

     “Well, she wanted to know if I knew the words to the song, ‘Summertime,’ that she was going to sing, as she’d forgotten them,” Elisa said.

     “Did you?”

     “Hell, no. But then another crotchety guy asked me to tie his shoelaces because he couldn’t bend over.”

     “So what did you do?”

     “Nothing. He wasn’t wearing any shoes. . . .What about you, Sally?”

     “Well, an old biddy asked me what part of the show I was in. I looked at her and said I was a cleaning lady and she started laughing out of control.”

     “Amazing.”

     “Yes, it was. But we better get started cleaning the stage,” I groaned.

     “Hey, look at that!” Elisa yelled. “It’s a quarter. Should I get it?”

     “Is it face up or face down?” I asked.

     “Why does that matter?” Elisa inquired.

     “Face up—its lucky, so get it. Face down, just leave it there.”

     “It’s face down.”

     “Then leave it.”

     “But if I don’t pick it up, one of the old folks might slip on it.”

     “Don’t worry. They all have insurance,” I said, giggling.

     “Okay, I won’t.”

     “Elisa, what’s that on the floor over there? It’s fuzzy and stringy.”

     “I think it’s a hairpiece,” Elisa said. I believe it belongs to the old lady with the big bald spot.”

     “Well, put it in your pocket. Don’t give it to her unless she asks if you’ve seen it.”

     “That doesn’t sound right,” Elisa moaned.

     “But the audience will think its funny, when a bald woman comes out to sing.”

     “Sally, are those somebody’s teeth in the corner by the wall?” Elisa queried.

     “It’s called a partial, I think. Put it in your pocket, too.”

     “Huh. Why? Won’t they need it? If they don’t have it, won’t their words come out funny?” Elisa said, somewhat bewildered.

     “Yeah, and the audience will have a great laugh—especially if she’s a singer.”

     “How do you know it belongs to a woman?”

     “Because old men don’t lose them. They just forget to wear them.”

     “Guess you’re right,” Elisa muttered. “But why is the audience laughing at us?”

     “They must be bored and have nothing else to do. Smile and wave at them. It’ll make them feel good.”

     “They’re still staring. Why’s that?” Elisa asked.

     “Beats me. Maybe they like younger women who bend over and pick up stuff. Show ‘em what you got, Elisa.”

     “What’re you talking about?”

     “Follow me. The show is about to start. Let’s give ‘em what they came for.”

     We grabbed our cleaning supplies, showed our butts to the audience, and wiggled uncontrollably. The applause was overwhelming, as we left the stage. Maybe . . . we’d found our new calling.

 

 

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