I Know Poor

Another day, another lost tube of lip balm. I stopped at the grocery store to replenish, completed the entire debit transaction, and was fully out the door before a realization hit me. For the first time in forever I hadn’t said one single prayer to baby Jesus, begging that my card go through!

You see, I know poor. When I moved to LA four years ago there was a gradual slide into poverty while I slaved in low-paying jobs… when I could get them. I remember a friend letting me go through his giant jar of change. I picked out the quarters, which totaled about ten bucks, and immediately went out for a Caramel Macchiato. It had been DAYS!

Yet, even that was not the low point. I had posted for every job I could imagine on Craigslist. I’ll watch your kids (I love kids)! I’ll walk your dogs (even though they’re slobbery)! I’ll detail your car (how hard could it be?)! I was so desperate for work that I signed up with a temp company that hires out people to do physical labor. The hourly pay for most of the jobs was decent, and this girl knows how to use a hammer.

The day I signed up they called to see if I would be interested in working the graveyard shift cleaning an office building. Hell yes, I was interested! Once I got there I learned the man in charge of the crew had recently started his own cleaning company. He had worked as someone else’s employee for many years, but this building was his very first account as a contractor.

It was hard work. I swept, dusted, vacuumed. The later it got, the more I wished each task he assigned would be the last. Finally he called me over to do the only thing left: clean the bathrooms. He would do the men’s, I would do the women’s.

Oh, God.



Okay, so maybe it wasn’t THAT dirty. There were two things about this that disgusted me. One was having to scrape strangers’ fecal matter off a toilet bowl, and the other was changing out the receptacle bags for used sanitary napkins. I did the bags first, daintily, with gloved hands.

I did not want to clean those toilets. It was four a.m. I could walk out and tell the crew boss I was sorry, I couldn’t do this, it wasn’t for me. But I pride myself on my Midwestern work ethic, and besides, I didn’t want to insult the livelihood of a man who had probably cleaned hundreds, if not thousands, of toilets in his lifetime.

I devised a plan of attack. I paused outside the first stall, gave myself a pep talk, inhaled deeply, then busted in like a ninja with the brush in hand. I really got in there, scrubbing under the rim and everything, all the while holding my breath. When it was time for more oxygen I kicked the handle for a flush and came on out for the next stall. Inhale, exhale, inhale, repeat.

Now I have a job I could have only dreamed of back then (a good stepping stone, a cool boss), but I still experience those figurative toilet-cleaning moments. My boyfriend Shrek likes to remind me that everyone, in every field, at every level, experiences indignities and injustices. It’s having to do something not in your job description, or do something for free. It’s putting on a brave face when you are hurt. It’s like rai-aaaaaaan, on your wedding day….

I guess the point is we all have to clean toilets sometimes. But never forget: this is America, and if you work hard enough, you might someday earn enough to have someone clean YOUR toilet. Until then, inhale, exhale, inhale, repeat.


Today's Coffee Beverage - Lemon Lift tea in the office. Good girl!