When I Grow Up, I wanna be a sandwich maker, and other musings on retirement-

Ever since our son started middle-school, husband (HB) and I started staking out our retirement destination. In 1998 or thereabouts, we decided that it would be very nice to retire in Costa Rica. It is near Miami; ergo I can just be a few hours away from the mainland. It has US-trained doctors (think plastic surgeons), it has perfect weather, nice tropical foliage, and I can speak Spanish. HB bought me a book entitled, “Retire in Costa Rica,” and the dream slowly fell apart as we learned that we would be taxed 100% on anything we bring in. We then thought about Buenos Aires, Argentina because we loved the European feel of B.A. but decided against it because the economy in Argentina is bad and we fear for our lives. That was exacerbated by the fact that a friend of ours cannot wear her 10-carat diamond ring in Buenos Aires for fear for her life. I do not have that fear simply because I do not own a 10-carat diamond, but I certainly like to wear my "ornaments" whenever I want to, without fear of being mugged. Then HB mentioned Netherlands and while that sounded like a good idea, I am sure I cannot deal with the gloomy days and I might end up following in the footsteps of Vincent, cutting my earlobe during one of those non-starry nights.

Then I had a brilliant idea. Maybe I should be the only one to retire. HB can ask to get transferred to either their London or Hong Kong office. In London, I can either spend days taking Spanish or French or Italian or even German lessons; having tea with some unknown would be BFF with an English accent and on weekends we can go on a holiday to Brussels or Paris or Rome. BFF would call me and say “How would like to go tea dear? “ And I would answer with my own version of the English “That would be perfectly splendid. I shall see you later at Devonshire.” Think Emma Thompson. The London idea was put in our suspense file.

The Hong Kong idea is superior. If HB works there for a year or two before we both retire, then I can go and use HK as my base to embark on a business venture in Manila, whatever that may be. Maybe I can have a stall in the Greenhills “tiangge” (covered market) selling sundries. Let us see, I can sell fake designer purses, fake CK undies, fake perfumes, fake Nike shoes, fake boobs (silicone inserts), fake lashes (Duralash), the sky is the limit. I can also teach English or Spanish or Office Technology at a college in Manila and fly to HK every other weekend. Or I can just stay in HK and teach Spanish in a private school or give private lessons. Maybe I can even clean houses for some fellow Americans whose spouse's career, just like mine, took them to Hong Kong.

The idea of being an “amah” or a cleaning lady in HK sounds adventurous to me. I watched "American Greed" on TV one day about this golden American couple. The HB was an investment banker for a Wall Street firm while the blonde beautiful wife stayed home. They were from Connecticut. They partied with shakers and movers. They lived in Park View, a resort-like high rise community where the rich and famous Chinese, Britons, and Americans lived. It is a beautiful place with manmade waterfalls over the swimming pools, lined with palm trees and orchids cascading from rock gardens. It has a “what money can buy” gorgeous landscape. I know the place well because HB lived there at some point before he became my husband, and I have stayed in his 2-bedroom flat, which in 1997 cost $10K (USD) a month. Before we get excited, he did not pay his rent; his employer did. While visiting, I spent hours looking out the window and enjoy the view of the reservoir on the East and the man-made waterfalls on the West. I decided that I would marry BF if he asked me. He did not ask me. I asked him. He agreed. And that is a different blog story.

In any case, I think it would be hilarious to earn some pocket money cleaning these privileged women's flats. I may even be a guest in their parties or they in mine. They would think I crashed their party then they will recognize my HB and look at me with a look of "Wow, the maid married her employer."or "Can you believe he married the maid?" Meantime, I will be LOLing my ass out. Anyway, I am not sure what HB would think of this. I can hear him say, "You are insane!" To which I will reply "You knew that coming in."

Years ago, when I was a single mom, a friend of mine asked if I wanted to make some extra money cleaning this couple’s house in Fairfax County, Virginia one Saturday morning. I agreed eagerly. We drove into this thick wooded area and there it was, a house in a group of “starter castles,” nestled in a clearing. Each house is called a manor. Ahem. Tara. We parked my friend’s humble Nova in the circular driveway. I felt so deliriously insignificant. The husband was a heart surgeon of Scandinavian origin, the wife was a stay-home mom, I note here that she is of Asian origin. Why could I not have this same luck? Oh well, I did date an ob-gyn but hearts are sexier than vaginas in terms of profession. What does your husband do? He is a heart surgeon. Wow, impressive. By pass surgeries, really Godlike. What does yours do? He holds dialogs with vaginas. Does he work with Eve Ensler? No, he is not a playwright. He you know, um, he delivers babies. Oh-kay.

Anyway, Mr. Bypass Surgery and wife have two young children and seven (7) bathrooms. As I took in the size of the house, aka manor, I knew I had to clean fast because I had a nail spa appointment at 2pm.

I was to clean the first floor where the piano room, family room and living room and other big rooms were located. Mrs. Cardio requested that I use vinegar to clean the marble floors. No problem. Then she asked me to polish the baby grand. I wished I owned that Steinway. I pretended to dust the keys and played "Chopsticks." Don't we all do that? Play Chopsticks on any piano we see? Or is that a Filipino thing? She asked me to come and vacuum the family room. No problem. The manor is as big as a convention center.

I went upstairs to check on my friend and offered to help her clean one of the five bathrooms upstairs. She saw me scrubbing the shower stalls with scouring powder. She said, “Don’t do that! You will never finish it in time. Dry clean it!” “What do you mean dry clean it?” “Just spray chemicals, really! This is not your home, do not clean it like you are cleaning your own bathroom.” After I did my first bathroom, I took my friend’s advice to heart. Mrs. Cardio walked in while I was reading the label of the cleaning solution. “I have never had a cleaning lady who would actually read the instructions on the label.” She then asked me to speak with her privately.

Mrs. Hongsok Cardio asked me if I drove. She asked I have formal education. She asked if I was interested in working for her full time. I drive. I went to college. I am not interested in becoming her housekeeper. I spoke three languages and can say ‘how are you?’ In her native language. She said she needed someone to take her children to their activities – ballet, soccer, piano, basketball, play dates, among other things. I was not interested in driving other people’s children because I had my own young child; I have a full time job and right now I needed to hurry up because I had a spa appointment.

She asked me who takes care of my child. I have a live-in baby sitter. Where do I work? I work for the federal government, specifically the US Congress. Are you kidding me? I am not going to clean someone’s starter castle with 7 bathrooms, a foyer as big as a ballroom and a kitchen as big as my condo. How many gallons of vinegar will I want to smell in a day? And that would be 52 weeks a year. Sorry, Mrs. Cardio, hire your own baby sitter and hire your own housekeeper. Hire two of them. Get yourself a job so you can get out of your castle and actually join the world of the living, hard-working women.

She said, “I have a boring life. All I do is take my children around. That is all I do.” So I said, “Why don't you hire a nanny with a driver’s license, hire two housekeepers, and get a job outside your home so you get to talk to other women.” I felt awkward for her, but nonetheless, I harbored a feeling that I can only now describe as jealousy for her seemingly better circumstances. As soon as I knew that she was not in a happy place, I started to feel much luckier than she was, furthermore, my condo had only two bathrooms!

If I had been in the same situation today as I did then, she would probably become one of my friends but I was obviously not worthy of her friendship. I was only worthy of becoming her maid.

Alas, she was unhappy and scowling by the time I cleaned her kitchen. She was finding fault in my cleaning. What was she expecting, that I would actually steam-clean her kitchen or that I would stir fry some freaking bok-choy and chicken for her family? I do not do this for a living. I was tired by the time I did the kitchen and I had to work with her mess. They had someone dropping in by the time I got to the kitchen and I was cleaning around them while they drank their coffee standing about. Aaaargh!

Finally, I declared that I was done. My friend came to polish whatever she thought needed a final touch and we said we were going. Mrs. Cardiology gave us $100. It was $80 for the base period and $20 extra tip. She asked us to come back next weekend. My friend looked at me and I gave her the “Shut the hell up or you are dead meat” look. She said, “I will call you if we are available.” As we drove away, my friend handed me my $50. We then went to lunch and then went to our nail spa appointments. Never again for $50. No way, no how.

But here in my fantasy, I would be cleaning small flats in Hong Kong, and I will quit if some spoiled witch is unhappy with my cleaning. I will have tea at the Peninsula , dim sum at the floating restaurant, take a trip to Stanley market on the double decker bus just because. And I can buy more blue and white china with my cleaning service income.

By the way, in the story I started about the couple in American Greed? The wife killed her husband. I kid you not. She put his body in one of the Persian carpets and put it in their storage bin in the apartment. All the gold, diamonds, privilege, Park View flat, parties, social functions, and money did not make one couple happy. She sits in a prison in Hong Kong and she will be there for the rest of her life. Golden girl tarnished forever. She is no longer blond and pretty. I watched every minute of it on TV.

Back to my retirement- anyway, more and more, my family started telling us that we will not be young when we retire. We need access to “911” when we get older. That made a lot of sense so we started thinking about retirement in the USA mainland. Arizona is out of the question; lack of water, messed up government, and I look like an immigrant. Florida is too hot and humid; too many fundamental Christians; Buffalo New York is too cold; moving to Canada did not sit well with our son; California has earthquakes, wildfires, and landslides; Delaware is just too bland, and I will not live in New England. So the plan is to retire when son is done with college, buy a house in an active retirement community either in New Mexico or Colorado, ask movers to hold our belongings, rent an RV, tow our SmartforTwo car, and drive all over the USA for three months.

We will ultimately settle in our retirement home somewhere in Colorado or New Mexico. We have found our ideal community. We are about to visit it this Fall. During retirement, HB wants to work part time as a dump truck driver; and I have high hopes of becoming one of the following: a teacher, bank teller, contracts administrator, notary public helping mortage lenders, full time pensioner, florist’s assistant; museum store clerk; sandwich maker, tea time caterer, stand-up comic. The list is long, the possibilities are endless. Maybe I can even clean my neighbors’ houses for a fee!