The Maid that wasn't

They have many names, domestic workers, house servant, maids, housekeepers and my favorite, French maids (that’s beside the point). Since the beginning of time, when the rich decided that it was no longer necessary to wipe their own дупе, there have been maids. It has been well noted that if you are able to acquire said domestic worker, you must be a relatively well off individual. With that said, I never, in a million years, thought that when I came to Bulgaria I would have a maid of my own, or so I thought.

My apartment is located in an apartment block. Not like an apartment found on Addison, but rather a cement monstrosity circa Soviet Union era. It is not the most appealing site to one’s eyes, but it does the job. I enjoy it thoroughly. It is a spacious, two bedroom, one kitchen, full bath, ICE BOX. I stress the words, ice box, emphatically. I live on the 3^rd floor and have many neighbors, one of which is a friendly, old baba with a wicked baba hood. Seriously, it’s like a package of Skittles melted on her head and now resembles a shawl. Anyway, when I first moved in (October) we had several friendly conversations, most of which included me saying hello in Bulgarian three different ways and then saying that I love dogs. Throughout our conversations, she would always say something like,”Чист” followed by”Blahblahblah, somethingsomethingsomething idontknowwhatthisladyissaying butijustkeepstaringather mustacheandiamwonderingifminecouldeverbeasthick, Добре?” and with my outstanding Bulgarian skills, this literally translates to, “Clean, OK?”. I said sure. I believed that for a set price, which she pointed out on her field-stricken hands, would clean my apartment with a vacuum cleaner. The set price was 2 leva. Man, what a deal. My first maid and it will only cost 2 leva. I was moving on up in the underdeveloped world.

Days would pass and for weeks on end I wondered. I had yet to receive this wonderful lady in my home. I wasn’t sure how the process was going to work. Does she come to my door when she wants to clean? Should I find her apartment and ask for her to come down and clean? The answers to these questions eluded me time after time. I would see her outside time and again. The converstion was the same over and over and it always ended with, “2 leva”.

Three months had past and no maid. The excitement of not having to clean my dishes the whole time in Bulgaria quickly wore off and I had to resort to manual labor (after the mouse, Sammy II, began leaving presents for me in the kitchen). I was sad and disappointed that my 3 month *integration plan of talking with the local maid had disappeared. I started thinking about why this old baba would tease me. Was it because I was American and she thought that it would be funny to exploit my Americanism of laziness? Maybe yes, but I don’t think she thought that much into it.

So after a great New Years in Plovdiv, I returned smelly and hung-over to Belene. I was met in the hall by a guy (who I was told later, had been recently released from the town’s prison) that claimed to be the son of good ole’ Skittle head. He spoke with an angry tone and very fast. While I was trying to listen to the man speak, the timed lights in the hallway kept going out. He began to speak louder and louder as I started to realize what he was talking about. He was inquiring about his mother (Skittle head) and the payments of 2 leva that she was suppose to receive. I told him in Bulgarian, it might as well of been Arabic, that she never cleaned my apartment and that I was not going to pay her money. This made him very upset and he became visibly frustrated. The entire time that damn light kept going on and off. Finally, cooler heads prevailed, with the intervention from another neighbor, and we parted ways.

I told the story to my counterpart and he quickly launched an investigation. He came back and started laughing. I guess the Skittle head lady was not trying to clean my apartment, but rather she cleaned the staircase for a monthly fee. All the tenants of the building paid her 2 leva a month to clean up the stairs. So all this time, thinking I was going to have a maid, it turns out this lady was just trying to get me to pay her 2 leva for her job on the stairs. Well, don’t I feel like the horse’s ass.

Take care and you stay classy,

Chase