Plan B

Last week in Munich, I woke up to find a strange woman in my bedroom. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have been alarmed. But this woman hardly seemed threatening as she stood there in the doorway, saying something in clumsy German and gesturing to the kitchen. This, as far as I know, is not how murders usually get started. I rolled over and asked, “Do you speak English?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I am here to clean the apartment.”

I nodded. This was news to me, though it shouldn’t have been. My roommate had sent me a text the night before letting me know that the cleaning service was coming in the morning, but I missed the message, along with 4 hours of sleep, on a late night bus from Venice.

“Have you cleaned the other rooms yet?” I asked. 

“No,” she replied.

“OK,” I said, trying, and most likely failing, to sound polite. “Well why don’t you start there?”

A few minutes later, after I had put on pants and washed my face, I tried my best to start over with the cleaning woman. 

“Good morning,” I said, coming out of the bathroom. “Sorry about that.”

She smiled and we chatted, our conversation much like the others I had with house cleaners all over the world: where we’re from; what we do; if we have children or husbands waiting for us somewhere else. Like most of the women before her, this one was in a rush to add detail and nuance: she studied agriculture in Syria; finding a good job in Germany is difficult since she does not speak much German; living in Munich is terribly expensive. She seemed to want me to know, in the most pleasant way possible, that she is not the type of woman who should be cleaning other women’s floors. Not only is she not satisfied with that line of work, she is too smart for it. Her name, she told me with no small amount of pride, means “sunrise” in Kurdish, which implied that she spoke or was learning to speak at least five languages. I couldn’t help but get her point.

As a fellow foreigner, I sympathized with this woman. I know how difficult it is to do relatively simple things, like set up a bank account or read the mail, with only basic German language skills. I understand her anger and frustration at having her education nullified once she crossed I border because my own degree is virtually worthless in Europe too. Just about everyone in Munich can commiserate about the cost of living – even the people paying to have their homes professionally cleaned, as evidenced by the fact that they have roommates. 

In addition to feeling a tremendous amount of empathy for this woman, I also carried a fair amount of guilt. On paper, our lives are so very similar: we are both as foreign, single, non-German speakers. And yet our circumstances are vastly different. I have a well-paying job because my employer transferred my position from the States. I secured a residence and work permit because my employer sponsored me. I am not frantically trying to reach C-1 level German because my employer doesn’t require it. By system design, I don’t have to deal with so many challenges that she is facing. I skipped the line – or at least got away with not checking a few boxes.

When you consider where this other woman coming from and what she went through already, this system doesn’t just seem unfair, but cruel. If ever there was an exception to be made, a process to be shortened, rules to be softened – shouldn’t it be for the woman who needs it more? If there is a way for me to get around language and education requirements and still hold a decent job, then shouldn’t there be one for her too? Shouldn’t the people who have lost just about everything and risked the rest, finally get a break? Besides, who are we hurting when we make it difficult? They’re here, after all. If we want asylum seekers to integrate into society, then shouldn’t we make it possible for them to be function within that society? The hoops we set up are hurting all of us in the long run.

I was tempted, when I spoke to this woman, to share with her that my backup plan, when my present job bottoms out for whatever reason and I need to find another source of income in the EU, is to clean houses. I have other skills, of course, but I doubt I’ll find an employer in Finland or Germany who is willing to pay what I consider a fair rate for them. On the other hand, as a person who has hired people to clean my home for years, I know that the earning potential for a housecleaner in a major city can be comparable to a mid-level desk job. (Trust me, I’ve done the math; I know the market.) 

So that’s my plan: to start a house cleaning business. I’ll call competitors to gather their rates and make mine just one or two Euros below that; To build a client base, I’ll offer referral discounts and new customer rates; I’ll market specifically to 20 and 30-something professionals who will see the service as buying time as opposed to paying for a mop; as a differentiator, I’ll offer to use green, organic, handmade cleansers and detergents for an added fee. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that part of sales pitch will be upfronting the fact that I am an educated woman from America. Anyone who hires me can rest assured that I am not turning over half my wages to a shady parent company or a domineering husband. I’m just a lady with a plan… and a broom!

Oddly enough, this idea appeals to me greatly. I like cleaning; I find it therapeutic, even. It’s a way for me to generate income while still making my own schedule and expending minimal mental energy. I don’t consider it a waste of my education because I’ll still be working on the side, writing a book and freelancing in marketing. I’m not saying I want to start this little business tomorrow, but when the time comes, I’ll be ready. I’m looking forward to it.

I didn’t dare tell the woman cleaning my apartment any of this because I know she wouldn’t find it comforting. She would not be flattered by my choice or curious about my business plan. Instead, she would probably fight the urge to slap me in my smug American mouth for not recognizing that my starting a little business because I don’t want to sit at a desk is not the same as her never even getting a chance to use her education. I am refusing to play the game; she is being denied the opportunity. 

I gave up on a traditional career a long time ago and I have no interest in revisiting the decision. Still, I understand that there are so many women who very much want the chance to do good work – to get the title and office and benefits package that comes along with it. In the mean time, many of them will settle for a foot in the door… or just a seat a desk.

At some point, if my cleaning business takes off, I hope to be in a position to hire a woman or two. Not to mop floors and scrub toilets, but to take the client calls and schedule appointments and process the payments. I’ll turn up and do the cleaning in between chapters while they sit at the desk and answer the phone. It only makes sense – they speak better German than me. 

4 comments to “Plan B”
    • I tried to leave a comment on your blog but WordPress was not having it… anyway, thanks for sharing. I hope more people begin to take the time to consider the questions you ask and take small steps toward becoming better neighbours.

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