Me and the Chore Girls

I agreed to a marathon cleaning job this summer. 96 apartments in 5 days. No, not me alone. But, about 12 people, working 12 - 15 hours a day for 5 days. The pay-off is a decent-sized check at the end of the job, just in time to get kids into school.

This would all be a good math question on the ACT. 'Rose is to clean 96 apartments in 5 days. Each of the apartments has a minimum of 3 bathrooms.....'

We cleaned, I think 48 bathrooms the first day alone, and only did 12 apartments. The second day was the doozy, at 15 plus hours. My hands and legs were throbbing from scrubbing shit out of toilets and other body fluids from sinks, etc. etc. Sorry to be gross, but, that was the reality. I discovered the joys of using a 'chore girl' (a.k.a., steel wool blob) for the grossest messes. What the hell is a 'Chore girl?' My boss acted as though I would know. I didn't. She handed me the glob of steel wool. 'Oh, steel wool. That is what you mean'. She looked at me blankly.

Actually, she looked at me blankly, alot.

At the lowest point, when one of my comrades was actually crying she was so tired, our boss left to go to church. That kind of thing, disappearing, I mean, happened more than it should have. I could see her little internal calculator chugging along behind her big eyes, trying to figure out how her profit margin was being affected, minute-by-minute. For someone so disorganized, she sure could calculate her 'cut' at any given time.

My van was transformed into a clean-mobile. Brooms. Mops. Comet. Soft Scrub. And, a fleet of vaccuums.

The '18-member' cleaning clue dwindled down to about 8 - 10 or so. One of the cleaning crew members came back to work stoned, and took a nap on a bare bed in a bedroom. Oh, and she was pregnant. Nice.

Or, there was the cleaning crew member that smelled bad all of the time. I don't think she had showered all summer. We called her 'Meth-Ann'. That says it all.

The 96 apartments are clean, though, just in time for the college-aged inhabitants to come in and tear them up again for next year. But, maybe next year, me and the Chore Girl will have a fucking clue.