20050722
minutiae
our usual cleaning lady has gone on vacation again, and in her stead is this frenzied replacement, temporary, with blonde hair you know isn't real. she wears her face heavily, the rouge too generous, like the blacks for her eyes and lashes and the peach of her cheeks. she smells like powder.
she takes my wastebasket and replaces it empty, with new plastic, but again out of place - a good six inches past under my desk. my desk is a corner of four, inserted diagonally, and i've intentionally moved drawers aside so my knees won't bump into any steel. there is much space for my wastebasket.
she leaves every wastebasket like that, six inches protuding under every desk, so when you climb on a desk and scan the office from five feet further up, all the wastebaskets peek from under the desks. like black minions under your beck and call.
of course the office never closes, and colleagues absent-mindedly kick their wastebaskets back into place, so the minions hide once again. and so you wonder about the original cleaning lady, her polish accent thick, her english poor, but her replacement of wastebaskets impeccable. the women won't say hi to you if you're busy on a project. i never notice their work until i see my wastebasket clean again, or misplaced again.
one day i lost my keycard and the original cleaning lady went up to me and, smiling, handed it to me. "i found," she said. "downstairs. i knew, 'my colleague,'" she said, pointing up. she said she found the keycard downstairs at the lobby and knew it belonged to a colleague of hers from the 25th floor. i wondered that if we were placed in different situations, like if i were assigned to ask her about work conditions in this building, if i would annoy her by my efforts to understand her on my own.
in another life, i would have no reason to greet them "hello" every time they emptied my wastebasket. i was taught to lay boundaries like that. pretty soon, i learned some boundaries are ridiculous. why shouldn't cleaners wear design on their faces - one's paid work doesn't always make the person.
a couple christmases ago, with plates wrapped in foil, they shared polish desserts of bread and jam. yum. ¶ 7/22/2005 04:29:00 PM
she takes my wastebasket and replaces it empty, with new plastic, but again out of place - a good six inches past under my desk. my desk is a corner of four, inserted diagonally, and i've intentionally moved drawers aside so my knees won't bump into any steel. there is much space for my wastebasket.
she leaves every wastebasket like that, six inches protuding under every desk, so when you climb on a desk and scan the office from five feet further up, all the wastebaskets peek from under the desks. like black minions under your beck and call.
of course the office never closes, and colleagues absent-mindedly kick their wastebaskets back into place, so the minions hide once again. and so you wonder about the original cleaning lady, her polish accent thick, her english poor, but her replacement of wastebaskets impeccable. the women won't say hi to you if you're busy on a project. i never notice their work until i see my wastebasket clean again, or misplaced again.
one day i lost my keycard and the original cleaning lady went up to me and, smiling, handed it to me. "i found," she said. "downstairs. i knew, 'my colleague,'" she said, pointing up. she said she found the keycard downstairs at the lobby and knew it belonged to a colleague of hers from the 25th floor. i wondered that if we were placed in different situations, like if i were assigned to ask her about work conditions in this building, if i would annoy her by my efforts to understand her on my own.
in another life, i would have no reason to greet them "hello" every time they emptied my wastebasket. i was taught to lay boundaries like that. pretty soon, i learned some boundaries are ridiculous. why shouldn't cleaners wear design on their faces - one's paid work doesn't always make the person.
a couple christmases ago, with plates wrapped in foil, they shared polish desserts of bread and jam. yum. ¶ 7/22/2005 04:29:00 PM
