Had I not been unmotivated and, well, lazy on Friday, I would have posted an entry that went something like this: "Right now, as I sit at my desk and type this, there is a woman in my apartment whose sole reason for being there is to freaking CLEAN the ENTIRE apartment, from top to bottom. This makes me endlessly happy." Friday was a lesson in patience for me, as I was so incredibly excited to get home to my newly clean apartment and just bask in its tidiness. I'm not a messy person, mind you, not in the least, but having had a cleaning woman in the past, I know that there's a level of immaculacy that can only be achieved when someone is being paid to do the job.
I got the name and a wholehearted endorsement of the cleaning lady from a friend of mine. I trust this friend's opinion as she is equally anal in her obsessive tidiness, so if she says this woman does an amazing job, than I have no reason not to believe it. It wasn't a very large expense, but I've been trying to save money lately so I chose a clean apartment over the facial I wanted, manicure and pedicure I needed, massage I desperately yearned for, and Forever 21 shopping spree that I...okay, I did that last one anyway. I'm not a rock, okay??
On Thursday evening I met the cleaning lady at my house for a quick overview and to give her my keys. My apartment is tiny, and as I said before, already quite clean, so I didn't think she'd have a huge job ahead of her. In fact, I thought she'd be relived to finally get an easy job, as I know how messy other people can be. I showed her the cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink, she offered to do my laundry which I declined, but accepted her offer to iron, showed her where the vacuum was, and agreed to let her throw out anything in the fridge that was spoiled while she was cleaning it.
When I drove home from work Friday evening, I was giddy with excitement. I planned on finally taking a bath in my tub, something I'm not a fan of with shower/bath combinations. I was sure she'd have scrubbed the ever-loving hell out of it though, so I wouldn't have felt like I was sitting in a bacteria bath. I thought of how beautiful my old, dark wood floors probably looked; shiny and clean. All the little nooks and corners where cat hair collects? Those would be sparkly too.
But...but when I walked in my door, I was confused. It took me about three loops around my apartment before I got angry. The kitchen hadn't been touched. My broom propped against the stove was the only evidence that anyone had even been in the kitchen, but the floor hadn't been swept, so it didn't make any sense. My vacuum had been moved, but the one rug I have in my house looked just as dirty as it had when I left that morning, and the fuzz from my cat's scratching post was still confettied around the couch. The papers on my kitchen table had been organized, my small bathroom had been wiped down a bit, but the mirrors hadn't been cleaned and nothing in the house had been dusted...just a few things moved around for posterity, it seemed. The few blouses and dresses I had left out for ironing had been hung back up in my closet, slightly less wrinkled and still damp from the steamer.
Then here's the weirdest part. Lying in my cat's bed - was a knife. I'm not kidding. Inexplicably, she took a kitchen knife from my utensil drawer, and somehow left it lying in my cat's bed when she was done doing -- whatever she did with it. Really...wtf??? It's almost funny...okay, well it IS funny, but I'm still out my facial/manicure/pedicure/massage/second Forever 21 shopping trip money.
I tried calling her but she hung up on me when I asked her what happened. When I called back, she agreed to bring me my money back, but I haven't heard from her since and my phone calls are going unanswered. I tidied my house a bit on Saturday...it only took an hour or so. I've decided that I can live without a spotless house. I'd rather have a little dust hiding under my bed, than the possibility of my cat spooning a knife.