Understudy for the part of Mrs, The Other Woman...Part 4 of many

Winter 1997-

During my brief stay in Hong Kong, BF and I decided we would live together upon our return to the U.S. as soon as school was over. But before any more commitments were made, we discussed one other very important issue. You see, Boyfriend (BF) had serious concern for the fire engine lipstick I wore during our first date. I initially argued that I had been wearing that color in the last decade, no one tells me what to wear, and furthermore, I paid for it myself. From his standpoint, red was “just gross!” I realized I did not want to get too worked up for something so trivial. I have been dealing with more substantive issues since my son was born that lipstick color was hardly an issue for me. Potty training boys are trickier when they’re over thirty years old. I was wise enough not to stand on a shallow principle and at that point, I loved him enough to give up red lipstick.

Lesson 1 –you are seriously considered for the part when the make-up artist discusses color. If you absolutely hate it, connive with the lights designer instead!

Upon our return to the USA, BF bought a townhouse. Shortly thereafter, my son and I moved into his house in the next State. There was going to be another woman in the house. This chapter is about her. She is the Nanny-Housekeeper (NH).

First there was a language "barrel" (sic), and it did not concern mine. It was the NH's. I would give her instructions and she would nod while saying something back. Then she proceeds to do something entirely different from what I have instructed her to do. I did not know 99% of the time what she was saying, and I was guessing the other 1%. When my face showed confusion, she would talk to BF and he would say, “uh-huh.” I was envious; he understood her.

One evening at the dinner table, she started saying something to him. He nodded and said the usual uh-huhs. Later, I asked him what she said. He said he did not understand a word she said. "So why are you always agreeing?" He said matter-of-factly, "To get her off my back." That set the tone for the next 3 and a half long years of figuring out how to communicate better with a hard working but incoherent woman I trusted my son with. It was an adventure all of its own.

1- electric avenue-
One night, BF was out of the country on business. It started to get hot and humid in Washington, DC. I instructed NH to bring out the electric fan from the basement so we can use it as an exhaust in the kitchen. She emphatically nodded her head. "Do you understand?" I asked. She looked insulted. "Uh-huh." I left to go to work while she took the boy to school. Later that evening, I came home to a clean house with electric blankets installed neatly on every bed in the house. I called BF who was in Germany to tell him what happened. We were convulsed with laughter.

2- mother is dead-
I tried a different approach. I used hand motions, and I also told her that if she wanted, she can speak to me in her mother tounge. She responded that her mother was dead. I said, in Spanish, “Es decir es que podemos hablar una y la otra en su idioma natal” [It means that we can speak to each other in the language of your birth]. She said, “No, I born…hmmm, mi mama murio” (She put a hand under her chin, making a cut-throat motion to make me understand that her mother is dead). Then she closed her hands together and her eyes rolled back as if in fervent prayer. Then she said, “Whoa! We speaken English.”

3- mary poplin -
One bright Saturday morning, I asked NH to go with me to run errands. I figured we could use some time to get more at ease in each other’s presence. I was wearing jeans, an old shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. She came out of her room, dressed in her Sunday best, carrying a leather handbag, wearing a hat, and a pair of pumps. I was too stunned to object to Mary Poppins' outfit. So, it was that fateful day that I "chauffered" her around. She loved going out and about!
She carried herself like a Colombian drag (sic) queen; she stepped out of the car, adjusted her hat, and walked with her nose up in the air. When she would purchase something, she would take out her checkbook and sign it deliberately, with a palpable air of superiority. When a cashier would try to ask her how she was doing, she acted like she was bored with the question. She would not respond or when she would, it would be an enthusiastic “Good!” Wanting to distance myself from the fool, I walked behind her. I succeeded to look like her personal maid in tattered blue jeans. At some point, I wanted to tell her something. She smiled and then whispered a warning to me, "I sayen to myself que I kill her if she talken Spanish to me in public." "She ---who are you talking about?" "Que you!" I wanted to choke her. She was going to kill me if I spoke Spanish to her? I told her "Oiga, voy a matarle antes que se me mata, me entiende?" She looked at me and said "Si, claro. You goen kill me if I kill you." That was the last time I took her around with me. Nada mas que desde entonces! [No more from now on.]
Lesson 2 - do not kill someone who has already killed you.

4- Spinach-
My son told me "Mommy, you know, she speaks Spinach." The problem with NH was that she came to the USA not speaking English. Her first employer who she took care for over two decades suffered a stroke. The lady lost her speaking ability and thus NH and she communicated in a manner only they could understand. She spoke something that sounded like pidgin English peppered with Spanish. The worst thing was that she thought she was speaking fluent English, saying with conviction, for instance "A message por telefono call for you." That was easy to understand but then the message she wrote never made sense so we told her, "If the phone rings, please do not answer. Thank you." "Okay." She did it anyway. However, she folds the linens like they just came back from the factory, inspected and passed by Inspector Number 8. The linen closet looked like Martha Stewart personally organized it.

5- telemarketer terminator

NH’s language skills had its unforeseen and amusing consequences. Telemarketers would call. I could just imagine.
TM: Good morning, may I talk with Mr. Whiteguy?
NH: No, he no here. Please to message?”
TM: Well, is Mrs. Whiteguy there?”
NH: No, she no here. Okay? Please to message?”
TM: Do you know what time they will be home?”
NH: No, I tellen they no home. Look, please to message?"
TM: Okay thank you. Goodbye. We’ll call some other time”
NH: I tellen…Dial tone.

6- hot towels -
One evening, I heard the microwave oven running so I went downstairs to see what was going on. I was worried that perhaps she was still hungry. BF was out of town. I tiptoed downstairs and asked her what she was cooking. She gave me a "what do you care look" and said, "I just dryen kitchen towels." "That is not a dryer. You are cooking towels. Listen why don’t you wash your hair then stick your head in the microwave. Tell me if it dries your hair, ok?" I went back to my room. I was furious. I was now realizing the danger of having this woman in charge of the house and my son. I calmed down when I realized that my son was too big to fit in the microwave oven. BF told me later that I should have not told NH to dry her hair in the microwave oven as I might find her doing just that. Lesson 3 - Do not use sarcasm with a moron. And buy a small-sized microwave oven.

7- what the hickey?
NH was proud of cleaning the house. She scrubbed our range so well that she changed its color from white to "chrome." I also knew that she watched a lot of TV. My son told me that she watched “Okrah” and “Maury Porbitch”. He said, “Do you know that Maury Porbitch is the husband of Corny Chung?” If NH knew I was at home, for example, she would take out the vacuum cleaner to show me how well she does it. Never mind that I might be watching television. She had to be in the same room, vacuuming. Or I would pick up the phone and the moment I started talking, out went the whoop-whoop of the vacuum. I would raise my hand but she would not stop. So I would hold my conversation, and tell her "I am on the phone. OMG you are loca! Why don't you get the electric saw and start cutting up some trees? As she walked away, she would put her hand on her forehead, and exclaim with her hands akimbo , “Oh my Lordy!?” Then with palms up, she would say loudly, “Why I do that? What the hickey?!”

The first day school started, NH greeted me downstairs in the morning, grinning and holding my shoes in one hand and my purse on the other. She stood in the foyer, waiting for me to take them from her. She was wearing an all-white uniform with matching nurse's shoes. She took the little boy to school, he was a few steps ahead of her, carrying his book bag, marching down the path to the elementary school. She strutted proudly, as if she was making an early morning round. BF and I looked at each other after they left and he asked, “What’s with the uniform?” I started laughing uncontrollably. We’re in the set of "Cuckoo's Nest."

Actually, my son said he wanted a young nanny who wears a leather jacket, jeans, and has a walkman. We convinced him that NH is a hard worker, she would be a good mommy helper, he should give her a chance. He was fine with that. So she would feed him and make sure he does his homework. But she apparently talked incessantly until he started to call us and say “NH is driving me crazy. She would not shut up. Tell her to be quiet please!” We told him to cover his ears and say “nah-nah-nah-nah.’ She told us the boy was disrespectful, covering his ears and saying nah-nah-nah-nah.” We told her that she should walk away from him when he does the nah-nah-nah-nah. Imagine the cacophony!

lesson 4 – never underestimate the power of nah-

We told her that she was not to wear her uniform and she was not to wait with my shoes and purse every morning. It was pretentious to expect that kind of servitude. I also asked her to address me by my first name. We both knew where we stood. I did not need any special term of address. She would refer to me only as her patrona, her lady boss. She kept the house in a 'show' condition but I started to become frustrated - it was like directing an improv where one of the characters speoke jibberish and the others were supposed to figure out and respond with appropriate lines. The dialog for Scene 2, Act 1 , Improv, between nanny and single mom living in with nanny's boss:

NH: Patrona, es que I go con mi friends in weeken to choorch.
Me: What did you say?
NH: I sayen que yo go con mi friends de Columbia in weeken to choorch
Me: What did you say?
NH: (sigh) I sayen que me go friends el fin de semana a la iglesia, ja sabe?
Me: (sigh) Oh, you are going with your friends to church. That is nice.
NH: Weekeng, uh-huh.

I started noticing that NH had no problem taking instructions from BF. In fairness, I think "come here" can only mean just that. She goes to him. Or "get the vacuum" and she produces the damn vacuum. But when I say, "NH, please vacuum under the bed and dust behind the closet door." This is what I would get: She vacuums around the bed, and close the door of the closet. If the door is already closed… you do the math. And when I pointed out her faux pas, she would say, “I do exactly you ask me.” If I point out something that was amiss, she would point at me and say “You the one I think you do it.” Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!

It was not easy but I tried to work around these things. I demonstrated what needed to be done and I used to blame myself for trusting that she understood what I asked her to do. Countless times, I could just cry from frustration about the things she did but BF told me that she obviously did not have the mental capacity to process information. He came home late; he did not have to deal with the other woman as much as I did. However, she reliably kept my son safe and the house clean. My blouses were pressed and my kitchen was spotless. Little by little, I learned to be a little bit more patient and took the tonterias in good humor. I found out that she was violated as a young woman, that she was an accountant and a tennis player. She told me that she was raised by her father. Okay, the part about the violation as a young woman tore at my heart, the fact that she was raised by her father was a fact, but that she was studying to be an accountant and a champion tennis player in Bogota made me want to commit murder and suicide. Instead, I put my elbows on the table, covered my face with my hands and shook my head. She's a total wack. Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah! OMG, I crossed over to Twilight Zone!

Finally, one evening she was showing BF something. She said, "Lookie here, lookie, need a buy her blouse." Before I could say anything, he was inspecting my blouse that I have mended and said, "You need to throw this away. Buy some new clothes." Every week, she would show BF something that belonged to me, which she discovered needed to be replaced or discarded. I said, "Tell me, show me, muestra me. Do not show him. You show me." She may have meant well, but I felt humiliated when she smiled at me while she pointed out my mended clothing, broken wristband, scuffed shoes. I felt like she could not wait to show him the crack in the heels of my glass slipper. I was being exposed as a fraud. Aaargh!

Lesson 5- payback is a biatch.