Maid - Stephanie Land Page 0,39

after the house has been rented and gone without regular cleaning for years. In these homes, a film of dusty grease, like rubber cement, covers the kitchen. The floors around the toilets are stained yellow; hair is embedded in all the crevices. Each time you wipe a surface, the original color is revealed, which makes the remaining discolored surfaces look even dirtier.

Walking into the trailer, I noticed the blackened tiles in the entryway first. The carpet had a visible dark path that led into the living room. When we stood in the dining room, we peered up at a chandelier, barely touching our heads, draped with dusty spider webs.

“I’ll do the guest bathroom,” Pam offered, making me like her a little more. “It’s pretty bad in there.” She put her hands on her hips, gazing up at the spider webs. “Sheila,” she called over to the woman inspecting the corner of the blinds in the living room that were bent and black from dirt. “You can dust. Make sure you get those blinds, too.” Pam looked at me, took in a deep breath, and said, “I want you to do the kitchen.”

I followed Pam as she walked into the next room, peering into the fridge that she’d unplugged and left open during the walk-through. She made a face, like a grimace. It would be the only time I’d ever see her react to grime; usually she kept a pleasant-looking cheeriness to her, even when she was reprimanding us. “You’ll have to pull all the drawers out and soak them,” she said, her head turned toward me, but her eyes were still fixed on the inside of the fridge. I came closer to peer over her shoulder. “Take out all the glass shelves and soak those as best you can.” She stopped to pick apart the accordion-like rubber on the door. “I would use a toothbrush on the seal around the door. Make sure to get the crusted-on food stuck in the crevices. Let me know if you need help,” she said, patting my shoulder and smiling. “Those dried-up puddles from packages of meat can be hard to get out.”

We continued to walk around the small kitchen, Pam pointing out the thick, brownish-orange layer of grease under the hood above the stovetop. We stood under the stains, our mouths open to gawk. There were splatters of what looked like chili on the ceiling. The burner control knobs were also covered in crusted bits of brown food. Every square inch of that kitchen, even inside the cupboards, had to be scrubbed and wiped down.

When I stood at the sink, I could just barely make out the corner of the Barefoot Bandit’s childhood home through the window. I couldn’t stop looking to see if his head would pop out of the grass. I felt protective of my beloved Subaru, the car I depended on to get me to and from work. I imagined him demanding my keys at gunpoint, then driving away in it.

To clean the ceiling, I had to stand on the kitchen counter. Pam came over to check on my progress and watched me with a wary eye. She asked me to let her know when I’d finished so she could show me what needed to be done in the master bathroom. She was still working on the guest bathroom. I could hear her coughing from the bleach fumes, even though she’d put on one of the white disposable masks. They didn’t do much to shield us from toxic fumes. Pam wore them to set an example and reminded us to do the same. If any injury resulted on the job, the first question would be whether we’d been wearing any safety equipment provided by the company.

Pam caught me resting my arms when she walked into the kitchen. I’d been standing on the counter for almost thirty minutes in an attempt to remove the spotted stains from the ceiling. And I was failing.

She motioned for me to follow her, and we walked toward the half of the house I hadn’t seen yet. The master bedroom still had its furnishings, and the closet was only half emptied. A thick fleece blanket with wolves on it covered what looked like a waterbed. I couldn’t help but grimace, imagining scenes of the man—whose kitchen I’d just spent two hours scrubbing dried food from—entertaining women in the bedroom. I wondered what kind of woman would join him on the waves of his fuzzy wolf blanket.

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