The Maid Challenge

I always had a maid growing up. Not because my family was so affluent, but because in Caracas most parents work all day, and somebody has to be at home to wait for the kids to come home from school and give them something to eat, not to mention doing laundry, cleaning and doing essential grocery shopping. Anybody with any knowledge in Latin American culture will tell you the same thing: maids are commonplace. It generates jobs, and keeps both parents working (God knows you need 2 incomes in this city to make rent). Even the smallest apartments will have a room next to the kitchen for a live-in maid.

I could tell you a billion stories about our maid. Actually, my sister Monica Geller might have some really bad ones. Without getting into too much detail, maids rule the house. They can make you feel right at home, or make you feel like you are their slave driver and therefore they give you attitude for no apparent reason. I don’t remember ever feeling “right at home,” though. I remember having good fun with our maid sometimes, but mostly I remember not feeling comfortable even walking into the house, fearful I would get a bazooka of attitude pointed at me. My sister has gone as far as describing our maid’s behavior as borderline abusive. My little sister, Tina Fey, and I don’t remember it in those terms.

The reason I bring it up now is that my grandmother has a maid. She comes a few times a week to help with cleaning and cooking, and she has helped my grandmother for many many years now. However, for some reason, this is the first time I’ve ever met her. It’s most likely because she comes on weekdays, and we always visited on weekends. Well, I had my chance to meet her on this trip.

She has been completely polite. She refers to me as “usted” (which is the formal form of “you”), and makes sure there are always enough arepas for breakfast for me. The thing is, I don’t feel very comfortable around her. Nothing really against her, I’m sure she’s a very lovely person. It just brings me back to those days when our maid would make us feel like we felt entitled or superior, and I don’t like to be made feel that way. I have felt so uncomfortable, in fact, that I don’t like looking at her in the eyes. She’s shorter than I am, and that alone makes me feel awkward (it gives an additional meaning to “looking down” on someone). I overcompensate by smiling a lot, saying “thank you” a lot and saying “please” a lot, and saying her name a lot, so she knows I don’t feel entitled.

The unintentional result of my awkwardness is that she will see an aloof and distant version of myself… hence feeding into her opinion that I feel entitled. It’s a vicious cycle, and I just don’t have a better way to explain it. I guess you just have to be in that position. Maybe if I were a better, more noble, person I would not be bothered at all. Sigh, sometimes I wish I could just get out of my head.

Maybe some day I’ll tell you some of our maid stories… that would make for a really interesting blog.

ina