The Education of Ms. Alongadingdong

one of the perks about living in a third worl -err.. i mean developing- country is the wonderfully cheap labor. now don't get the wrong impression; i'd never exploit that labor to make shitloads of money in the global market - mining diamonds in africa or producing t-shirts and sneakers in asia or exporting wives in eastern europe, for instance. but i would be totally willing to hire a vietnamese woman to keep my room tidy (and balcony), do my laundry (including ironing my shirts), sweep all 4 floors of the house (mop at least once a week), wash the dishes (don't forget to bring down any i've left in my room), clean both bathrooms (and i mean clean), don't talk to me or make eye contact (unless initiated by me), and of course, make my bed 6 days a week for no more than 3 bucks a day. i know what you're thinking: "isn't that a bit much?" well it's split between 6 people so at less than 50 cents a day, i'd say she's a bargain!

but unfortunately, you really do get what you pay for. in the ten months we've lived in the house, we've already gone through four maids (cleaning ladies, housekeepers, indentured servants, whatever). two were fired: one, for requesting more money; the other for taking the last few drops of tiana's super special expensive shampoo, and may (or may not) have stolen some spare change from mike and alison. the other two both quit because one found it "too demeaning" and the other, our first, who talked to herself incessantly and always rearranged my legos regardless of whether or not they were in sexually explicit positions, according to the grapevine, "hated" us.

so that brings us to number 5: bong. i think the nicest thing i can say about her is that despite being straight from the countryside, she doesn't have a totally fucked up bumpkin mug. oh and i like the fact that her bicycle hardly takes up any of the space reserved for our motorbikes, unlike our former maids. and unlike the last one, she doesn't bring her 6 year old son to the house to help her out. so she's great, except that we're the first family she's worked for since moving to the city, and popping her maid cherry has kinda made a mess everywhere: clothes ruined from bleeding, plates with food stuff still stuck to them, toilets generously decorated with logs, etc.

a total bonghead for sure, but no one wants to be bothered with finding another replacement so we've decided to try guiding her a bit. what follows is based on a list of grievances and recommendations the house agreed upon a few nights ago. i hope tiana (or a kind reader with extensive knowledge of vietnamese) can find the time to translate it.

dearest bong,

you're not a very good maid, but i believe you can vastly improve your skills as a housekeeper by heeding my advice:

1) lucky for you, ice doesn't make itself, or you'd be just about out of a job. listen, my drinks have to be ice cold. got that? maybe where you're from a semi-chilled drink straight from the refrigerator is acceptable. or maybe you're unfamiliar with this whole refrigerator thing, which wouldn't at all surprise me because you didn't seem to know how to flush a toilet before coming to our house. but whatever it is, stop wasting time cleaning the damn ice cube trays and definitely definitely don't put them away in drawers. get a friggin clue, bong.

now because i'm a nice guy, i'll help you out. ice is really really cold water. so cold that it's hard. it can be made in just 2 simple steps. the first step consists of filling the ice cube tray with water and putting it in the freezer. yes, the colder part of the "electric cold box." upon completion of the first step, you should proceed immediately to the second and final step, which is to wait. oh yeah, and don't eat our ice.

2) maybe it's unfair to chide you about something you seriously might never have seen before so we'll give you a pass on the whole ice thing. but goddammit, what the fuck is the matter with your nose? my clothes smell like rotten jock strap, and i know they didn't smell that way when you got them. and it's not just my clothes that reek; everyone in the house has got a bit of a sour milk odor emanating from them and it's making me sick. take note of this: clothes should be returned to us smelling better than when you receive them. simple enough, right? i mean, what the hell are you doing anyway, washing our clothes with bong water? [note to tiana: the pun may not translate but include it anyway.]

but don't cry about it. try this: first, scrap whatever concept of "clean" you learned in your village. from now on, sniff each garment before putting it in my closet and then sniff your arm pits. if there is even a remote similarity, put that shit back in my hamper and start the process all over again, but this time use more detergent.

3) where's my blue and yellow striped button down? last week it was my cotton khakis and now it's this. bottomline: it's unacceptable. find it, fix it, give it back, or buy me a new one. i don't care that you'd have to spend your entire month's salary on it; it''s the only way you'll learn. it's called tough love. and yes, we do love our bongalongadingdong.

i know there are 6 people in the house, and sometimes you get confused with who owns what, so i'll make it a little bit easier for you to keep track. first off, any item of clothing that seems either freakishly large or, conversely, pygmy-like, goes straight to euan and tiana's room. the same goes for anything sex-related that turns up in the wash. second, i don't wear women's clothing. and even if i did, it would be impolite to assume i did, so don't leave any g-strings in my room. if anything, we can sort it out later.

ok so that leaves me and mike, and here you have some options. you could just not be a moron and remember. or you could learn our distinctive smells: mike's is a poignant, sea-breezy musk, tempered by just a hint of oak in autumn; i, on the other hand, smell like baloney. but given that your olfactory senses are decidedly, shall we say, unrefined, perhaps we should train some goldfish to help you remember which clothes are mike's and which are mine. but it's coming out of your salary. [by the way, mike, if you own a pair of boxers featuring dogs jumping through hoops and fetching things, it's in my closet.]

4) speaking of salary, according to tiana, you want to move in because, supposedly, your roommate has been having sex with her boyfriend while you're in the room and that bothers you. first, let me just say that if that really is the case, then you're moving into the wrong house. but i think you just wanna save some extra cash by freeloading off of us and you know what, it's not gonna happen. i mean sure, we could be totally charitable and let you sleep in the vestibule on the roof, or next to the washer machine behind the kitchen, or underneath the stairs. but where would the ants sleep? the cockroaches? i'm sorry, bong, but they've been here a lot longer than you. and they clean up after me all the time. and i don't pay them shit. or rather, that's all i pay them. so unless you're willing to accept an alternative form of payment for your janitorial services, sorry, but there are no vacancies.

5) you should learn to speak english.




best of luck to you,
mat