Staffed

Right now, I am sitting in my home, and my home is full of people whose job it is to look after me and my possessions.  I feel quite odd about it.

There are two young women who are cleaning the apartment.  We have only been here for two days, and in my opinion all that was really needed was a sweep of the floor and wipe the tables and empty the bins.  All things I could easily have done myself, but I knew the girls were coming – and it is their job. They need their jobs. 

I thought they would be about ten minutes but they have been here for an hour already.  The bathrooms have been completely cleaned and the bed linen changed.  I stopped them from changing the linen on the spare bed which nobody has slept in. The floors have been swept and mopped, the bins emptied, the breakfast dishes washed, dried and put away.  The tables have been wiped and all the surfaces polished.  The place is gleaming.  A natural slob I have never lived in such cleanliness.

There has been a problem with the bathtub.  Instead of draining down the drain, it drained onto the floor.  So as well as the cleaning ladies there is also two plumbers, a handyman, the receptionist and the building owner in the apartment.

Meanwhile, I am sitting on the couch trying very hard to be invisible.