At Your Service. Not!

My name is Amapola Gold and I am the shiksa from Manila...

I was out sweeping the stoop, one of those annoying domestic rituals attached to the seasons. In the winter, I shovel; in the spring, summer, and fall, I sweep the stoop. It wouldn’t be such a big deal except that when the weather is warm, the pollen gets to me, thanks to a pin oak tree in front of my house. There is a nametag nailed to the trunk in case anyone was interested. My preference would have been for a warning sign instead: Danger! Danger! Tree sheds. Tree spreads pollen. Sometimes, the pollen is so bad I can barely open my eyes. There are days when I look like Rocky and that’s on a good day.

But someone’s got to sweep and that someone is me.

So I’m going about my business when I notice the caregiver of a neighbor, two doors down, smiling at me. Until today, we’ve done nothing more than exchange nods. The smile is a change from our routine. She starts to walk in my direction, pushing a stroller with baby Lucca in it. Well, he isn’t exactly a baby anymore but he is in the stroller.

I smile back and go about my business when I begin to feel that I am being watched. In fact, the caregiver is now standing in front of my house.

“How long have you worked here?”

OMIGOODNESS! People, this is very grating to my delicate ears. I can feel the sweat oozing out of nipples.

I understand it’s a case of mistaken identity but why couldn’t I possibly be the “owner” of the house instead of the cleaning lady? Given that I was wearing rubber gloves, an apron, and clogs covered in handpainted flowers, the mistake was unintentional if inevitable. But the gloves were made by Casabella and the clogs were from a Swedish catalogue called Hannah Anderson. In this instance, the details escaped her because what she saw instead was, like her, I was a person of color. In her mind, I couldn’t be anything other than....

But lady, I was wearing pearls! Huge, lustrous, South Sea pearls on my ear lobes. Perfect spheres the size of marbles. Anyone who knows pearls would know they weren’t from Carolee.

And there’s the rub: she knew nothing about pearls. Sigh. Next time, I will wear a tag that says, “Owner.” Now, let’s see if she can read.