To Clean or Not to Clean

Last week I gave in and called a cleaning company. Moving to a smaller apartment I naively believed cleaning would be less of a hassle. The problem is that even though the area of messiness is much smaller, there is no extra space to hide/throw/pile/stack all the crap we have in our home, making cleaning not just a weekly chore, but a daily necessity. By the time I manage the clutter I have to choose whether to really clean or to write.

Despite the fact that I have been programmed from an early age to think that people who hire cleaners are dirty, lazy, "bad," or a combination of them all, I knew it had to be done. It was a matter of valuing my own time and being able to confess that I could not both write my dissertation and keep a house like June Cleaver. So I chose.

I was already feeling quite bad about calling, still trying to shake off the nagging voices in my head that told me "you suck!" (This, by the way, is my all time favorite line from an Ani song!) I had cleaned the house...not extremely well, but well enough so that I wouldn't be embarrassed to have professional cleaners in. When the cleaners came for the estimate I was relieved to see how nice they were. They wouldn't shame me, right?

Wrong.

In English they were very polite inquiring about which type of cleaning products we use, what areas of the house we would like cleaned, whether or not we would like extra services like oven and refrigerator cleaning. But after a few questions to which I stared blankly at them (like "What do you use to clean the inside of your cabinets?" or "How often do you bleach your floor?" or "When was the last time you cleaned your window shades?"), they began to mutter amongst themselves in Portuguese.

Now, I am always one of the people that swears when people from different cultures speak in their native tongue it has nothing to do with the white folk hanging around. But this time it was in fact not true. While I am not fluent in Portuguese, I understand it. Both my Spanish and the fact that I worked with a Brazilian church for three years greatly help me decipher.

Peering into the bathroom, I heard them exclaim,

"This tub is disgusting! It will take a long time and need that super strength cleaner...what's the name?"

"Tile-ex."

"No, stronger."

Are we that dirty??? I couldn't imagine.

Coming out, she politely said to me in English, "Well, you know the first cleaning is going to take a long time. Okay?"

Everywhere they went in the house they ran their fingers along catching the dust I had somehow missed. Walking by the light switch they ran their hand over the wall and recoiled as if in horror at the dirtiness of it all.

Near the end of the estimate (which lasted over 30 minutes...and mind you we have a one room-ish apartment!), they negotiated the price in Portuguese in front of me. The younger girl suggested one price, explaining that it was quite dirty and would need a lot of time. Thankfully, the older woman, eager to retain my business and sure that with one of her super-cleanings the mess could be managed, suggested a lower price. All the while they talked I thought maybe I should clue them in to the fact that I understood everything they were saying, but I suppose I didn't have the heart or the courage to stop them.

In spite of feeling completely shamed, there was a small, secret part of me that was overjoyed by their nazi-like assessments and standards. So, they might think I am dirty, lazy and bad, but if their standards are this high it means my house will be uber-clean! What's a little shame compared to a spotless Cleaver-esque house, after all?