Cleaning

1. Monday Morning

The sun is shining through my blinds indicating a new day and a new week. It's a new week of working, and I'm dreading every part. Don't get me wrong making money is great when you need it desperately, but cleaning as a job; I hate it. The fact that I have to go to some random person's house and clean their filth when they're perfectly fine on doing it themselves absolutely drives me insane, I guess that's just the luxury of having money. I wish I could say no, but my mom isn't capable of doing it all on her own, her knees are giving out more and more. She leaves me worried sick. She's so damn stubborn that she refuses to find a better job. As I lay in bed I contemplate all the different jobs I could apply for, when I hear a familiar knock on the door known as my mom's. "Lola ya despiértate" I groan as she's telling me to wake up. I yell to her through my door asking her for 'Five more minutes please!' She's huffs as she says "okay". I groan as I stare at my ceiling remembering we have a different house to clean today since our regular Monday morning cleans moved to the other side of town. Apparently his name is Harry Styles and he's some sort of big shot asshole playboy. Thank god we never meet our clients because just reading about him gives me a headache, imagine meeting him in real life talk about a migraine.

As my five minutes are up I get out of bed and get dressed quickly to prepare myself of a new day of hell. I know if I don't eat now I'll have to wait until after our cleaning, and trust me depending on how dirty and the size of the house is that will take hours. As I prepare myself a bowl of cereal my mom comes into the kitchen to hand me the address of this so called Harry Styles person. As I sit at the counter eating my cereal I start to ponder on how life would be if I were rich and had the liberty to spend money out of my ass like this man does. My thoughts were killed by my mother slapping me upside the head telling me to hurry up; Mexican moms I swear I can never catch a break with them. At last I finish up my breakfast and put all of our cleaning supplies in the car to head on out to his house. The drive there wasn't as bad as we had anticipated, just a pain in the ass trying to get in. the damn idiot didn't leave us the right code, wasn't picking up his phone and to top it off they thought we were breaking in; can this morning get any better? We finally entered the gates from the help of the company getting in contact with his manager. The home wasn't any mansion, but it was big enough to tell it was an a-list house. 

It was a nice place I must say. Everything was modern, but vintage in a way. Which actually gave me an at home feeling. Time 9:47 am, if we were lucky enough we could get out of here at eleven. I started with the back of the house where I would presume you'd find his room and such, but the first door I opened was his office so I started there. As I Looked around it wasn't your typical office more like music room, records lining the whole room with your turntable in the corner, a desk in the middle of the room, but what shocked me was that there was a recording studio in here. As I was off to do my dusting I realized I had left my headphones at home so presumably to make time go faster and make it tolerable I played his music. I must say I was kinda impressed with his collections. It varied from Frank Sinatra, Fleetwood Mac, Nirvana, even some Kendrick Lamar. I picked up one of the Fleetwood records knowing if I put music on it would have to be in the taste my mothers and I likening. As I turn on the turntable and put the record on the first song to play is "The Chain", this song is so nostalgic to me, it just reminds me of growing up differently from the other kids. All they would listen to was their cringy pop music and not have an appreciation for legendary musicians or older music. Head-banging and cleaning was a great mix, but almost knocking stuff down wasn't... oops. Right as the awesome guitar solo belts out I heard a door open, not minding it of course since it would be my mother coming into the room to check up on my progress. As I continue my headbanging, singing, and cleaning all at once, I hear someone clear their throat and speak in a husky manly voice that most certainly doesn't belong to my mother. I know in this very moment I will be face to face with Harry styles and I just hope to god he won't report us to the company in some way fire us from ever working again.