Pink Trash Becomes a Landlord

Upstairs there exists a small 4’ x 10’ room with one sink, one window and a few closets. It has electricity and running water, but no heat and bathroom. A few days ago, it was just a storage room and the basis for my new kids’ book. Beginning next week, it will be our cleaning lady’s new home.

While having dinner last Sunday with Mina (our French teacher) and her family, Chris and I mentioned the extra space. At the time it was housing two lamps, a dog kennel and a wobbly coat rack we purchased from IKEA. We had no specific plans for the area other than packing it with unwanted vendor gifts and outdated American fashions. So when Mina mentioned she was looking for a place to live for her cleaning lady, we thought, “why not?” So later that night, I came home and vacuumed the space, dusted the counters and polished the sink and preparation for its’ showing the following night. As I completed my tasks, a sense of sadness and appreciation filled my head.

“How could anyone live here,” I thought. “There’s barely room for a twin bed.” But, as witnessed a few minutes later, people do. I heard someone leaving from another room down the hall. Which made me stop and truly assess my situation. Suddenly the hallway odors I try to extinguish on a daily basis seemed so trivial.

Alissa and Mina arrived around 6 p.m. the next day. Out from Mina’s car stepped a small Thai girl no taller than five feet tall. She was younger than I expected – actually much younger. “Is she old enough to work?” I wondered. She was dressed in a puffy pink jacket with matching cell phone in hand. Apparently, communicating with friends is more important than having an apartment with heat.

I showed Alissa the dark and intimate space. It was a bit challenging since I removed the chandelier from the ceiling (I thought it would look better in our third bedroom). But a flashlight was all she needed to accept. “I’ll take it,” she said. So as we made our way back down the spiraling staircase, we discussed the arrangement – she would iron and clean four hours a week, on Tuesdays, with a “refresher” on Fridays. Once agreed, we said our goodbyes.

I returned to our flat to share the news of our new tenant with Chris. He was still somewhat appalled by the living conditions and the situation at hand. But as I had done just a few hours before, he soon realized we were helping someone. The room may be small. It may be chilly. But it was hers. And in Paris, that’s pretty special.