Hello, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Vera Ashwood. You don’t know me, but I know plenty about you. I know how many children you have, the number of furry friends that are in your house, where you dream of going to on vacation and what kind of sense of humour you have. How do I know all of this about you, even though we have never met? Because, I’m the cleaning lady at your place of employment. I come in every night after you’re gone. I’ve seen the pictures on your desk, the destination calendar on your wall, as well as the toys you keep on your desk in hopes of making you look like less of a stiff. Do you know what else I know about you? You’re a huge pig.
I once spent an entire thirty minutes scrubbing out the soup you allowed to boil over in the microwave oven. You remember the soup, the one you couldn’t be bothered to wipe up the second it happened?. I’ve had to bleach the fridge from top to bottom on a number of occasions, too because of the containers you leave in there as though you’re conducting some never ending science experiment on mold.
There is something I haven’t figured out, though. Who was the idiot who dropped the sweet and sour meatballs on the boardroom carpet, and why didn’t they pick them up? Was it you or one of your colleagues? I bet it was you, just as I bet it’s you who keeps leaving the scrunched up paper towels on the bathroom counter after you’ve washed your hands. There’s a garbage pail right beside the sink! How hard is it to turn forty-five degrees and deposit it where it belongs?
“It’s your job to clean up after me,” you likely want to say to me. Yeah, well you know what? It’s a doctor’s job to keep his patients alive for as long as possible but he’s not going to get very far if they’re just going to keep eating junk food all the time, so help me out here people.
I see on your staff bulletin board that there is a potluck coming up at the end of the week. Do me a favour, will you? Put the paper plates and the other garbage in an actual garbage pail instead of leaving it out on the kitchen table as some sort of sacrifice to the god of ants, okay?
Thank you, my piggies.