I don’t miss my all-brawn no-brains job.
The job from which I was laid off exactly a week ago; seems longer.
Don’t miss the slog of scrubbing bathrooms down into the corners of tiled floors. Every day I’d go home with evidence of my industry painted on the knees of my required beige pants. Beige: not the best color for housekeepers who crawl about in their work.
Every day or two, I’d toss those pants into the tub, and use the bristly side of my pumice stone to scrub off the large knee patches of dirt. Hang ’em outside to dry for the next day with hopes that a sudden monsoon wouldn’t derail my effort.
I don’t miss pushing a cart laden with housekeeping tools and supplies down the walkways under Arizona’s summer sun.
I don’t miss the time. Oh the time! The hotel’s requirement of full cleans completed in 30 minutes, stayovers in 15.
I could list — rest assured I won’t — a hundred reasons why this requirement’s lame. Each room’s different. Some are so trashed by guests that it takes 10 minutes just to collect up the garbage, bottles, pizza boxes and bottlecaps strewn across the floor, and another 10 for the sheets off the beds and extra roll-away.
Other rooms, the guests have practically cleaned ’em for ya. Once I had a room where the guest had actually stripped the bed! All the towels and sheets were in piles waiting for the housekeeper.
Now THAT’S thoughtful — made me wonder whether the guest was/is a housekeeper — and EXTRAORDINARILY rare!
I could go on about the absurdity of timed rooms. I cared/care more about quality and thoroughness and a job well done than the clock. That made/makes me a freak fore sure.
On the other hand, I never shut the room’s door thinking: “Damn, I did a shoddy job! I really sailed through that one cutting corners! Hope the guest doesn’t notice! Or my boss.” Yep, supervisor checked EVERY room being done EVERY day!
I don’t miss always being last off the floor at day’s end. As the oldest gal there — and with a good 30 years on some coworkers — I couldn’t perform at rabbit speed. Even in my 20s, I was the tortoise, not the hare! It’s my body type. Deal with it. Or don’t.
I don’t miss the ridicule, hurtful wisecracks, comments and judgments. I knew they talked smack behind my back. One, they’re females. That’s what females do. They’re bitchy and catty and vicious and backstabbing. Not every female on the planet; I mean generally.
Two, I’m verrrry sensitive. You don’t gotta tell me nuthin’, I can FEEL it.
Three, I didn’t belong or “fit in.” That’s a loaded statement so best to let lie. Just sayin’ that belonging to cliques has NEVER been a goal. I march to a different drummer. The whole catty backstabby gossiping thang that females do never interested me. Isn’t in my DNA.
In short, I don’t miss the negativity directed my way or the negativity overall.
Tell you what I DO miss, only somewhat. Keeping fit. It was one fucking strenuous hard job! All that walking, being constantly on the feet … bending … lifting … carrying … squatting … stooping … kneeling climbing stairs … hastening to laundry and storage rooms for this or that … hurrying! hurrying! hurrying! because of the timed element … swear to god, you couldn’t get a better workout at the gym!
Which is why through the two months I worked there, I didn’t visit the gym once!!! No friggin’ need! What I NEEDED after work was rest! Sleep. Downtime to relax and regenerate so to rise and do it all again.
Now with my “hotel workouts” things of the past, my body and mind are goin’:
“Gotta start movin’ again. Not so tirelessly and strenuously as before but gotta keep those muscles toned, those tissues clear of toxins buildup, those ligaments stretched but relaxed.
Gotta keep the blood flowing, the bile moving, the anxiety and worry low and the positivity high.
‘Cause this I’ve always been and known about myself: I’m a mover. I NEED movement, physical activity, exercise. I need motion like I need air.
I’m neither a lazy ass nor a couch potato! Ergo I’d make one truly lousy modern American who wants to just sit around all day at a TV or computer feeding their Fathood and sucking off the taxpayers’ money and Obama-designed socialism!
Do not get me started on that theme!!
All said an’ done, point is with my Go! Go! Go! job over, I’s gotta make time for workouts & exercise ’cause Slackerville ain’t got my name on it. Ain’t no mailbox or assigned parking spot for me there!