"My work may be garbage but it's good garbage." Mickey Spillane
People are strange and, when you put life through the rosy sitcom glasses, amusing. Even when they are frustrating. I signed up through my healthcare provider with a service that sends a woman to clean my house twice a week. I’ve gone through a lot of them. Most of them are immigrants and students. Only one of them was white. Her name was Melissa.
I liked her immediately because she reminded me of the type of low class people I had grown up around. She was considerate and sweet and interesting. And, as it turned out, very strange.
So picture her. She had very short spiky hair dyed bright yellow. She was in her 40s with a grown daughter. Melissa stood about 5’5″ with a rotund build. One day she just stopped coming. She claimed she called and got Natalie or the answering machine. But that was not true. She just stopped coming for a while and somehow it was all my fault. At least at first.
When she started arriving again, she told me that they had lost her paperwork and I needed to fill it out again so that she could get paid. I was suspicious, but decided to see what happened if I did. Melissa started coming again regularly and then the mess with her not showing up started once more. So again I complained and this time they fired her.
So now I’ve had this adorable African chick with a very soft voice and a charming Queen’s English accent and she’s built like a medieval German barmaid. I have to struggle not to stare at the shapeliest ass I have seen in close to 20 years. She is a bit shy, so maybe she doesn’t realize that she probably turns every head in the room when she walks in.
Melissa was a wanna be chick. Amy (not her real name) is the real thing.
And now the surprise revelation. One of the first things that Melissa did was reorganize my cupboards. She did a fine job of it with only one oddity. Instead of putting the vanilla extract bottle with the seasonings, Melissa hid it behind the flour and other canisters. I thought at first that I must have bought it and forgot buying it. It was a huge bottle of extract. One day I ran out of creamer and Natalie could not go to the store for me that day. So I dug the bottle out. I put milk and sweetner into the coffee and then added a large dollop from the vanilla bottle. I took a big swallow and almost choked. It was not vanilla in the bottle. It was vodka.
Apparently Melissa is an alcoholic and had stashed it when she was still coming to clean for me. All the other home health aides that are sent out to me have been African and Caribbean immigrants. It is ironic that the only one who was trouble was white.
And as my tale slowly turns serious and introspective, I want to say that I’m very much in favorite of the DREAM act and wish it had passed. Immigrants, legal or illegal, just want a chance like everyone else. And I am becoming biased in favor of them.