The Cleaning Lady

          The doorbell rang. It was my friend Faeeza.

          “I was in the area so I thought I’d visit.”

          Faeeza had just come back from a trip to South Africa and I was dying to hear all about it. I invited her into my livingroom and we talked for an hour.

          “I'm justing going to use your washroom,” said Faeeza getting up.

          She was in the washroom before I could stop her. I prayed for a miracle. It didn’t happen. The door opened a few seconds later, and Faeeza emerged looking green.

          “On second thought, I’ll just use the toilet at home.” She left quickly. I went to the bathroom. There was black sludge in the toilet, no toilet paper and the baseboards were filthy. It smelled like a fish had died in there. The humiliation was devastating. I had no one to blame but myself.

           Six months ago my kids heard me complaining about the cleaning lady.

           “She never cleans the baseboards in the washroom,” I said. “It drives me crazy.”

           “How much do you pay her?” asked my twelve-year old son Zayn.

           “120 dollars,” I said.

           “What?!” yelled Zayn and his fourteen year-old brother Rashad simultaneously.

           “That’s a lot of money,” said Inaya, their 16 year-old sister.

           I could see the dollar signs flashing in their eyes. I knew what was coming next.

           “We could do a way better job than her,” said Zayn.

           “Forty bucks each,” said Inaya.

           “Eighty bucks,” said Rashad. “She hires Susan twice a month.”

          They were imaginging all the candy, clothes and gadgets they could buy with that money. I wasn’t thrilled with the quality of work Susan was doing either. And if I paid the kids, it would be like recycling my money since it would stay in the family. It was a win win for all of us.

           “If I let her go, it’s really hard to find another cleaning lady so you guys can’t let me down.”

           Zayn watched videos on how to clean a bathroom on YouTube.

          “I’ll need a tool belt to put all my equipment in,” he said with the seriousness of someone planning brain surgery. We went to Wal-Mart and bought all the supplies. The tool belt itself was 25 dollars but Zayn promised that it was a good investment in the future cleanliness of our home. Rashad wanted a battery operated spray bottle so he only had to press the nozzle once and the cleaning fluid would spray out in automatic spurts, like a machine gun.

         The three of them cleaned the house on a Friday and it sparkled. Why hadn’t I thought of this years ago? I dutifully handed out $40 to each of the deserving children.

          Two weeks later, I told the kids it was cleaning week again.

          “But I have a sleep over tonight,” complained Zayn.

       “I can’t clean, if he doesn’t clean,” said Rashad. “He’s responsible for vacuuming the bathroom floors, and I can’t wash the floors until he’s done.”

          It was a minor set back.

         “Fine,” I said. “You guys can do it on Saturday then.”

         Saturday came and the kids complained about it being a holiday and wanting some downtime. After some prodding, they finally agreed.

      This time the house wasn’t quite as sparkling. I sat on the toilet and could see grime on the baseboards. I complained.

          “Hey, my job is to just vacuum the floors,” said Rashad. “Zayn’s supposed to wash the floors.”

          “The baseboards aren’t technically part of the floors,” replied Zayn.

         “Zayn, I want you to use a toothbrush and scrub the baseboards the next time you wash the floor in my bathroom.”

          “What?” he said. “No way.”

          “I get stressed out I get when I’m sitting on the toilet staring at filthy baseboards.”

          “So close your eyes.”

       The next cleaning day I caught Sakeenah, Zayn’s nine year-old cousin diligently scrubbing the baseboards with a toothbrush. Zayn was sleeping in the bathtub.

          “What’s going on?” I yelled at Zayn.

          “You said you wanted clean baseboards,” said Zayn sleepily.

          “Cleaned by you, not your cousin.”

          “I’m paying her five dollars to do it,” he said. “Who cares who does it?”

          “I do. You can’t outsource your cleaning job.” I pulled the toothbrush out of Sakeenah’s hands and forced Zayn out of the bathtub and onto his knees in front of the baseboards.

          Two weeks later Rashad said that he wanted to take over everyone’s jobs because he needed to make a lot of money to buy a new iPod. Zayn and Inaya gladly agreed.

           Rashad cleaned the main floor first.

          "What about the bathroom?” I asked. “You forgot to clean the ring in the toilet from two weeks ago.”

         “As soon as I come back from my basketball game,” said Rashad putting away the vacuum cleaner. I guess the bathroom could wait a few hours. Turned out the bathroom had to wait another two weeks. It became even more filthy and I was furious. And then my friend Faeeza came to visit.

         I told my husband Sami I couldn’t do it anymore. The nagging, the constant excuses, it wasn’t worth it.

         “This is a good lesson for the kids,” he said. “Especially the boys, they need to learn how to clean a bathroom.”

         “But at what cost?” I said. “We’re becoming social pariahs.”

         I needed a change of tactics. We had a nightly ritual of watching TV together as a family. We picked a show everyone liked such as Falling Skies or Marvels Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

         “Did you two do your cleaning chores today?” I asked the boys as we got ready to watch TV.

         “We’ll do it tomorrow,” said Zayn. “It’s Saturday and we’ll have lots of time then.”

      “Yeah,” I said. “Here’s the thing. I don’t believe you guys. You don’t get to watch TV anymore until your work is done.”

          And just like that Sami and I went into the basement and watched Rizzoli and Isles instead.

        The house was cleaned the next day. That was two years ago. We are no longer known as the slum house. Faeeza came back for tea and summoned enough courage to use the washroom again. My house is not spotless but it’s tolerable and my boys know what a toilet brush looks like so I figure I’m doing a service to society.

         And no, my baseboards are still not clean.