And this is what my life has come to...
A week ago, while at my stellar blind cleaning job, the crew was going through the usual routine. It was perhaps twenty until 5 p.m. and after having let ourselves into a suite we were starting to take blinds down in the unoccupied offices, which were few due to the early hour. Government workers milled about in the hallways, staring curiously at us college students. Our youth, and casual attire made us conspicuous in business setting. Occasionally someone would make a comment. "Great summer job, huh? Looks like you're working hard." Or the standard "Maybe I should bring some blinds in from home so you could clean them." We smile politely, and if our smiles are a little strained it is hardly noticed by the older employees, who having made their witty comments have returned to typing furiously into their computers or shouting loudly into their office phones. So we continue climbing over mounds of stacked papers, picture frames, coffee cups, plants, computers and phones, all in the way of the window seals. We scramble over desks, balance precariously on the narrow seals of the windows and struggle to twist out the thick metal clips that hold the blinds in place. Wrapping the cord carefully around the blind, we tuck in the end and then place the blinds against a wall in the outside hallway. Later we will come back to clean the inside of the window, spraying it with water mixed with baby shampoo and then wiping away the moisture with a squeegee.
It was during one of these moments when Mr. African heads man arrived upon the scene. With a single finger he pushes his glasses back up his nose, as they fallen dangerously low. He is an uninspiring fellow, perhaps in his early forties, with the wispy look of a scholar. He scans the hallway looking for our leader, and with little success directs his question towards the nearest person, which happens to be Jessica.
His voice is clear, unaccented, and clearly educated. "I need someone to come and look at my blinds, they aren’t working correctly." Jessica nods and says, "I'll see what I can do." Jessica, CC and I follow Mr. African heads man to his office, behind me I hear CC whispering, "Please not office with the African heads, please not that office." But it can be reasonable deduced that her wish was not to be, for Mr. African heads man, true to his name, leads us directly to his office, one prominently displaying several large, African, wooden heads. This might perhaps strike one as odd as Mr. African heads man is undoubtedly Caucasian. Having previously washed his blinds before, CC later confessed to Jessica and I that she had dropped one on the ground and dislodged the metal pole inside that controls the rotation of the blinds. Sure enough on closer expectation we find that his blinds are not turning correctly, due to CC's treatment. We promise him that will be fixed. Not entirely satisfied he decides while he's at it let us observe yet another exuberantly, large problem that surely would require our direct and immediate attention. "I have to lean over my desk to reach the rod to turn my blinds." He demonstrates, exaggerating the motion before he grabs the plastic rod.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. This is what office workers worry about? "Maybe you could switch this blind with one that has a rod on the other side? He says hopefully. We pause in an effort to make it look like we've given it serious thought. Jessica finally pacifies him with "we'll look into it." Which we all know she really has no intention of doing. Mr. African heads man is pacified though; he smiles and lets us leave.
Walking back down the hallway CC grumbles, "We've become blind bitches." Indeed, I ponder silently, that is exactly what we have become.
It was during one of these moments when Mr. African heads man arrived upon the scene. With a single finger he pushes his glasses back up his nose, as they fallen dangerously low. He is an uninspiring fellow, perhaps in his early forties, with the wispy look of a scholar. He scans the hallway looking for our leader, and with little success directs his question towards the nearest person, which happens to be Jessica.
His voice is clear, unaccented, and clearly educated. "I need someone to come and look at my blinds, they aren’t working correctly." Jessica nods and says, "I'll see what I can do." Jessica, CC and I follow Mr. African heads man to his office, behind me I hear CC whispering, "Please not office with the African heads, please not that office." But it can be reasonable deduced that her wish was not to be, for Mr. African heads man, true to his name, leads us directly to his office, one prominently displaying several large, African, wooden heads. This might perhaps strike one as odd as Mr. African heads man is undoubtedly Caucasian. Having previously washed his blinds before, CC later confessed to Jessica and I that she had dropped one on the ground and dislodged the metal pole inside that controls the rotation of the blinds. Sure enough on closer expectation we find that his blinds are not turning correctly, due to CC's treatment. We promise him that will be fixed. Not entirely satisfied he decides while he's at it let us observe yet another exuberantly, large problem that surely would require our direct and immediate attention. "I have to lean over my desk to reach the rod to turn my blinds." He demonstrates, exaggerating the motion before he grabs the plastic rod.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. This is what office workers worry about? "Maybe you could switch this blind with one that has a rod on the other side? He says hopefully. We pause in an effort to make it look like we've given it serious thought. Jessica finally pacifies him with "we'll look into it." Which we all know she really has no intention of doing. Mr. African heads man is pacified though; he smiles and lets us leave.
Walking back down the hallway CC grumbles, "We've become blind bitches." Indeed, I ponder silently, that is exactly what we have become.