A dedicated hotel housekeeper devises a scheme to turn the tables on a snobbish and rich guest who is bullying her. Instead of responding with violence, she carries out a subdued but powerful act of resistance that forces the unpleasant woman to deal with the consequences of her actions.
I have always looked up to my mother as an inspiration. She takes great pride in her profession as a housekeeper at a high-end hotel in the area. She ensures that every guest room is spotless and welcoming, treating each one as though it were her own.
But she just experienced something that truly tried her patience. It began on what appeared to be a normal day. A young woman named Ms. Johnson occupied room 256, which my mother was tasked with cleaning.
My mother sensed Ms. Johnson’s contempt for her as soon as she entered the room. The woman was on the bed, barely recognizing my mother as she was absorbed in her phone.
My mother was meticulously mopping the floor and making sure every nook and cranny was perfect when Ms. Johnson knocked over her coffee and spilt dark liquid all over the freshly scrubbed floor. She remained silent. Rather, she sneered at my mom and yelled, “Clean that up!”
My mom’s heart fell. She had put a lot of effort into making the space beautiful, just to have it sloppily undone. But she was aware that she couldn’t jeopardize her employment. It brought stability to our household and gave her a sense of autonomy.
She swallowed her pride and quietly mopped the floor once more, sensing Ms. Johnson’s derisive stare. The woman giggled as she worked, the sound resonating throughout the space. Fantastic work for a housekeeper. You didn’t even challenge me,” she said, her contempt evident. “I’ll think of something more difficult for you tomorrow.”
My mum wiped away the tears as she completed her work. Any indication of anguish would only make her happier. I noticed the hurt and a glimmer of resolve in her eyes that evening as she told me about the incident. She refused to let her spirits be crushed by this opulent guest.
My mom had a plan when she went to work the next day. She was prepared for the embarrassment that Ms. Johnson would attempt to inflict upon her again. She was determined to convince the woman that being courteous and respectful are not signs of weakness and that it is a major error to underestimate someone who works with pride.
With a steely resolve, my mother entered room 256 around midmorning. Ms. Johnson was there, already grinning.
With contempt, Ms. Johnson remarked, “Oh, look who’s back.” “Let me try to make you some mess today.” With a gleam of mischief in her eyes, she reached for her coffee cup.
Mother stayed calm, prepared for what was to happen. She started her cleaning routine quietly, methodical and effective, refusing to take the bait. She took note of something significant: Ms. Johnson’s laptop was open on the table, her unattended work lit on the screen.
With grace, my mother said, “Excuse me, ma’am.” “I should dust the table,” Would you kindly shut down your laptop?
Ms. Johnson rolled her eyes and sighed. She sighed loudly and closed the laptop, saying, “Fine.” But move quickly. I have significant job to do.
“Obviously, ma’am,” my mother said calmly.
“You’re not as quick as you were yesterday,” Ms. Johnson said in jest. “Doesn’t housekeeping school teach speed?” Putting the task front of her, my mother ignored her.
Ms. Johnson drummed her fingers on the table, clearly displaying her frustration. “Are you finished yet?” she yelled.
“Almost, ma’am,” my mom said in a composed voice.
At that moment, the hotel manager, Mr. Ramirez, came through the door. He looked around the space. He said, “Good morning, Ms. Johnson.” with warmth. “I hope everything is up to par.”
Ms. Johnson chuckled. It’s alright. This maid of yours is really slow and awkward.
Mr. Ramirez cast a little scowl. “I regret learning that. Our employees receive outstanding service training.
Glancing at my mother, Ms. Johnson stated with contempt, “Maybe she needs more training.”
Mr. Ramirez worriedly turned to face my mom. “Mrs. Adams, is something wrong?”
My mum gently addressed his gaze. “No, Mr. Ramirez. Everything is managed.
Mr. Ramirez gave a nod, but his worry persisted. We’ll make sure you have the most comfortable stay possible, Ms. Johnson.
Ms. Johnson waved indifferently. “Please watch out that she doesn’t break anything.”
Before departing, Mr. Ramirez gave my mother a reassuring grin. She felt an exhalation of confidence as the door closed behind him. She was prepared for whatever Ms. Johnson had in store next.
She went back to work, hatching one more cunning scheme. Knowing that Ms. Johnson wouldn’t find out until she felt some difficulty herself, she hid a tiny, innocuous-looking but foul-smelling packet beneath the bed. It was a ruse, emitting an odor that would get more and more offensive in due course.
After gathering her materials, my mother said, “All done, ma’am.” “Have a good day.”
My mother witnessed Ms. Johnson and Mr. Ramirez fighting in the foyer the following morning. The visitor was enraged.
“I have to leave that room! It has an awful stench! Her almost-screamed question, “How do you expect guests to stay there?” attracted attention.
Mr. Ramirez maintained his composure like a pro. “Ms. Johnson, I’m really sorry to hear that. You’ll be moved to a different room while we look into it.
Ms. Johnson walked off, still furious. Silently observing, Mr. Ramirez moved to face my mother. Calmly, he said, “Mrs. Adams, could you please check Ms. Johnson’s room for the source of the smell?”
With a concealed smile, my mother answered, “Of course.” She proceeded to room 256, her heart thumping with happiness.
She hurried inside, discovered the packet, and took it out before opening the windows and turning on the fan to air out the space. She exulted in her victory. It seemed that Ms. Johnson had tasted her own medicine.
She noticed Mr. Ramirez in the hallway as she was leaving the room. “Have you located the source?” he inquired.
Yes, she responded to Mr. Ramirez. Under the bed, something was left behind. After removing it, I let the room air out.
With relief, he murmured, “Thank you, Mrs. Adams.” “As usual, you did a great job.”
My mother nodded, understanding that little deeds can sometimes bring justice.
The courier arrived the next day with a box for room 256 while Ms. Johnson’s belongings were being moved to a different room. My mother recognized that Ms. Johnson had relocated to room 312 and saw a chance for a last instruction.
“Pardon me, the guest has moved to room 312,” she remarked to the messenger. I’ll see to it that the box reaches her; kindly leave it at the front desk. The box was handed over by the courier who nodded.
To be sure it wouldn’t be discovered right away, my mom carefully hid it behind other deliveries in a corner of the front desk.
The following day, Ms. Johnson was anxiously getting ready for her journey and an important occasion. Frantically, she called the front desk, realizing something was missing.
A parcel was dispatched to room 256. What location is it? My tickets and evening gown are in it! Her voice was a mix of desperation and rage.
Startled, the clerk looked through the files and discovered the parcel. To bring it to room 312, they gave my mother a call.
Calm and composed, my mother knocked on Ms. Johnson’s door. With wide eyes filled with fear, the woman opened it. “Where have you been lately? I’ve been waiting, she yelled suddenly.
“Ma’am, this is your parcel. “It was brought to the incorrect room,” my mother stated amiably while holding it out.
Ms. Johnson grabbed it and tore it apart. She murmured, “Thanks,” and slammed the door, realizing how much the delay had cost her—unusable tickets and little time to prepare for her event.
My mom grinned and turned to leave. Without deviating from her responsibilities, she had forced Ms. Johnson to acknowledge the repercussions of her behavior. It was a win that was quietly very satisfying.
She informed me later, and her eyes were beaming with relief. She firmly stated, “Letting people face their own consequences is sometimes the best form of revenge.”