Coming Clean, Not Without Scorn, About Housework

We were fired last week. My husband says that it was his fault; I believe that we were both to blame. When the cleaning company boss called me, she said, “We cannot work together so we have taken you off our service.” It was not the first time our household help fired us.

Six years ago, when I pointed out dusty corners and cobwebs on the lintels to our weekly housekeeper, she replied, “I can’t work for you. If I am to be that thorough for you, everyone will expect the same service.” She was trying to balance six jobs each week and to please six different bosses. My complaints had thrown her off balance.

I switched gears, eventually, from a self-employed housekeeper to a cleaning service staffed by experienced women, bonded and trained.

First, we toured the house, new and clean, orderly and uncluttered, no children, no pets. We reached agreement: once every two weeks, two women would thoroughly clean our home. The cost was high. The list was long: shutters dusted, carpets vacuumed, mirrors polished, tile floor scrubbed, bathrooms sanitized. (I never found out what that meant. Perhaps, the small triangular fold on the toilet paper rolls discouraged germs.)

Windows would be washed on the inside, never on the outside; the furniture would be vacuumed, but, as I discovered, never moved; the bed would be made, but the carpet beneath it was a DMZ. I signed a contract and agreed to a 24-hour cancellation policy, just like the dentist and the Hilton.

It is important to note at this point that I hate housework. It is a necessary evil, because I hate dirt more. Thus, when two resolute women took over our home on alternate Tuesdays, I was relieved. I trusted them; they walked in and I walked out.

They must have thought that they had found an easy mark. When I returned an hour and a half later, they were gone. They were not on roller skates but they certainly must have sped around this house. Almost 1,700 square feet, thoroughly (!) cleaned in 90 minutes?

At first glance, it was a miracle. The carpet looked brand new, the kitchen floor shone, the roly-poly bugs in the sliding door tracks were gone. The mirrors sparkled. Or did they? One was smeared, then another, each reflecting the trail of an oily rag. The talcum that settles on everything in the bathroom was still on the moldings. Behind the bedroom night table, the tissue I had dropped and failed to pick up remained.

So we did a talk-around with the boss, then a walk-around with the employees. Sweetness and light; promises, promises: “Thank you for telling us; we need to know how best to please you.” Poppycock! Employee/employer conversation: make nice and she will go off shopping again.

Why didn’t I fire them immediately? Good question. Over the years, I have fired employees. “You are clearly not enjoying your work, so why waste your time. Maybe I can help you find a more satisfactory slot.” I fired a baby-sitter when I found the kids’ piggy bank getting lighter after each “sitting.” Another time, another sitter, we walked into the baby’s room and were nearly overcome by the odor of whiskey. We attempted to fire that woman on the spot, but she was out cold. I knew I would have to do it in the morning, and I did.

The thought of starting again, training new people, is almost as distasteful to me as discovering a spider web clinging to a lamp. So this time, we tried a masculine approach.

My husband did the walk-around and pointed out dust and dirt they had overlooked. Speedy and her partner responded with serious looks and silence, which we assumed was acquiescence. Wrong. When they were bonded, the small print must have read, “Agree, do not argue, we’ll shoot it down later.” It was the day after they had left us, promising to be “more thorough” that the call came: “We are taking you off our service.” Unlike what I used to say to my volunteers, there was no offer to help me look elsewhere.

So, while my husband pushes the vacuum (it takes him two hours to do all the carpet thoroughly) and I dust the shutters and all of the ledges, I try to understand it. Neither of us was ever trained for housework. In grammar school, there was something called “homemaking,” where we baked cupcakes, learned about weights and measures and the importance of scrubbing the sink when we were done. That is all I remember.

Today, my kitchen sink is usually spotless. I can still smell the cupcakes, too much vanilla, and I recall the stained cookbook. But, that is all. Perhaps my mother thought that keeping house would come natural to me; she was wrong. Perhaps, too, my homemaking teacher thought I would notice and emulate her sparkling, dust-free kitchen, cleaned no doubt by the janitorial staff after school ended.

I have done no research on homemaking, but I do know that there are people who enjoy keeping houses tidy and spotless, and it really does not matter whether it is mine, yours or their own. They love that work.

Immediately after that woman fired us six years ago, I discovered Kathleen, a delightful and intelligent person with a keen sense of humor. For five years, she kept our house glowing. Kathleen never counted hours; instead, she counted us as friends and we reciprocated, enthusiastically. If she overlooked something, she usually found it before we did. She stayed until she finished, whether we were at home or not. She was not bonded and she never folded the last sheet of toilet tissue into a tiny triangle. But she did do one terrible thing: she moved to Utah.

I believe now, sadly, that a “cleaning service” is that and that alone. I have no right to expect it to have a heart, like Kathleen.

There are 23 commercial cleaning services in inland North County. I cannot speak about all of them, obviously, but I am skittish about having a parade of unfeeling strangers run through my house and stamp it “cleaned,” without having stopped to find out where they are and who we are. I am naive enough to continue believing that, if one is willing to roll up sleeves, soil hands and work hard, one should also care.

Our house is our home, with its own aesthetics and with an ambiance that reflects us and our way of life. Like yours, our house has its own personality. I fear that every house probably looks alike to the cleaning service people. If it is Tuesday, it is Lake San Marcos. I would be pleased if, instead, the mental message would be, if it is Tuesday, it is the Hermans.

Until we find someone who will care about us and our home, who will say, as Kathleen used to: “How are you both feeling today--how are your children?” my husband and I will keep house. We are, thank God, able-bodied. Now I must run; it is my turn to scrub the kitchen floor.