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A damn cart sold at some flea market and that could be bought by the owners of the house so that cleaners like me could move around while cleaning, would solve my problems.
How sad is it that this is the value of my life? I work my ass off for two weeks to earn the amount a used cleaning cart would earn me in one day.
My eyes burn and my sore muscles from hours of cleaning scream in protest as I decide where to start in the newly opened room. I shake my head from side to side, deciding to stop thinking as I realize that if I keep caring, I won't leave here today.
I don't need to care, I don't need to think, I just need to do.
The clock on the TV panel, the one where a pair of used red lace panties lay forgotten, tells me that it is already three in the morning. Five hours. Five hours of cleaning without eating anything and I'm still not exactly close to the end.
The triplex at Barra da Tijuca[3] was the victim of a wild party last night, and I'm responsible for giving it back its dignity, no matter if it costs me mine. I start by gathering the clothes scattered around the room: a shirt, pants, a dress, a pair of heels, panties, and boxers. After leaving everything in the laundry basket in the cart, it's time for the bedding, and I thank God for the rubber gloves. I know that, theoretically, you can't get an STD just by touching someone's dirty sheets, but for God's sake.
For a brief second, my mind wanders, imagining what it would be like if I were the owner of the red panties, if my life were hers. A life fueled by expensive drinks, fancy food and designer panties I wouldn't mind leaving behind. I laugh before the image is even complete in my imagination. Shaking my head from side to side, I pull the mess of fabric on the mattress toward me. Unwilling to cooperate, one of the pillows falls to the floor as I finish removing the pillowcase and I curse, because I'm still not willing to find out what kind of monster I'm going to find under the bed today.
The beds in these houses are a perverted and disgusting kind of kinder egg that always hold unpleasant surprises. Last time, I found an absurdly realistic and scary inflatable doll. I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself, saying that it doesn't matter what it is, just take it out, clean it and ignore it.
I bend over, leaving my ass in the air, and when I pull the pillow, it drags something that was under the bed with it. Of course, it drags, because any punishment for poor people is not enough.
However, when I lift the white piece and look at the surprise that was left on the floor, it doesn't look like an unwelcome surprise at all. I blink, then look around, suspecting it's some kind of prank.
I've been providing services for the cleaning company where I now work as a freelancer for six months, and in the mansions whose dignity I restored at my own expense, I've already encountered all sorts of strange things, but a lump of money is the first time.
The sweat on my skin cools, covering me for a completely different reason than the exhaustion before. As I look at the rolled money, it's impossible not to try to imagine how many bills are there, even though I'm sure I would never be able to figure out how many two hundredreais[4] bills are in a roll based on its thickness.
I thought they were a myth, because although they had been released over a year ago, until today I hadn't seen them. To be very honest, I don't remember the last time I saw a hundred.
I reach down, reach for the money, but pull back before touching it. I bite my lip and, once again, look around me, wondering if any of the decorative objects scattered around the room could be a security camera like the ones mothers of youngchildren use to spy on their babysitters. If so, what should this scene look like now?
“I'm not a thief,”I tell myself. “But this money... It would make things so much easier...Maybe I could even leave.”
I could leave it at home and go away. Disappear in the world, be free. Desire hits me right in the chest like an arrow. How many times has it crossed my mind? I shake my head from side to side, denying it. I'm not a thief, I'm not ungrateful, I could never just leave, they need me. I don't have many reasons left to be proud of myself, but I can still be proud of these two. I'm not a thief and I'm not ungrateful.
Finally, I touch the money, take the thick wad of bills, and place it on the bedside table, I still look at it for almost a full minute letting my mind dream of all the possibilities that will never be mine. Dreams that die the moment I look up back into the filthy room, knowing there is no escape, this is where I belong.
***
The chilly water wakes up my skin, but everything else about my body remains half-dead. I blink my eyes, heavy with sleep, and exhale heavily. The cleaning crew's uniform is stuck to me, but who can blame it? I'm a sticky mess of sweat.
I rest my arms straight on the sink and close my eyes, that's easy to do, it's the first easy thing to do in the last few hours. I don't know how long goes by before I realize that I dozed off, standing up, sticky with sweat, in the bathroom of the maid's quarters in the house that I had just cleaned at four-thirty in the morning.
I force my eyelids up, vision still blurry for a few seconds before I manage to fix my gaze in the mirror and immediately regret it. I was wrong, I'm not a mess, I'm a horror.
All the frizz in the world concentrated on my hair, causing the shorter, broken strands to break free from the bun on top of my head and stand at attention. It looks like I was electrocuted once, or twelve times.
My eyes are red, the brown of my irises is dull every day and my skin is sickly grimy, almost as if it has absorbed all the dirt, I took from this house into itself. And, of course, I stink.
The image is dark, but not worrying, in fact, it is almost familiar. What is not at all familiar is the stain I discover on the lapel of my uniform. Holy crap! I turn away from the sink to make sure my sleepy eyes aren't playing tricks on me, but when I look down at the fabric, the bluish circle is still in the same place it was when I noticed it in my reflection.
Shit, shit, shit! Andressa is going to kill me! Or, worse, she'll want to deduct the laundry bill from my daily allowance, or, even worse, the cost of a new uniform. The thought makes my heart race, and suddenly I'm more awake than ever.
I approach the tiny sink again and lean over it, trying to bring the lapel to the tap, it doesn't work. I stand up, my eyes blink frantically and my hands open and close again and again. Hell, hell, hell!
I start to unbutton my uniform. The problem is that the damn work outfit is a jumpsuit, so when I take it off my body, I'm half-naked, wearing nothing but panties and a cotton bra. The cold from the central air conditioning hits me immediately, making every hair on my body stand on end at the sudden change in temperature.
I bend my neck to one side and then to the other, cracking it. The loud noise brings with it the usual stupid thought: I'm crunchy. I giggle completely out of turn and turn on the water. I bring the fabric closer to the running water with the intentionof wetting only the stained part, but when it rains, it pours; and I end up tripping over my own legs, standing still, pushing my body forward and almost hitting my head on the sink. At the last second, I found my balance, avoiding the greatest misfortune, or, at least, what I believed to be the greatest misfortune until I realized the state of my overalls. In my desperation to not break my teeth, I dropped the fabric into the sink, and now it is completely soaked.
I stare at the fabric submerged in a small puddle of water in the sink for a few seconds before realizing that if I don't turn off the tap, no one is going to do it for me and soon, in addition to having to deal with the fact that the only clothes I brought to wear are completely soaked, I will need to deal with a small flood in the house of an agency client, a flood caused by me.Oh, Jesus! Why, huh? Why?
I turn off the tap and lift the overalls that were blocking the drain, the excess water drains out and I fold the fabric until it's a good enough size to wring out, it doesn't do much good. The overalls stop dripping, but the entire top is wet, and the stain is still in the same place it was before.
