Notes from a maid convention

JAKARTA (JP): It was an unusual gathering: A convention of maids, motto: The Good Mistress, is she out there somewhere?"

The chair called the meeting to order.

"Thank you for coming. This is not a rally. Remember that you need your mistress more than she needs you. So, no outbursts or histrionics. The question is clear. Find the answer."

The hubbub died down when three were selected to speak.

The first one took the floor.

"My name is Rose. My mistress is as patient as a whirlwind and very fond of yelling. Usually it is: 'Are you finished?' Perplexed, I say belum."

"'You and your blooming belum', she says, walks into the kitchen and starts shouting. Then she pauses; she realizes that she had not actually told me what to do. Yet, unfazed, she delivers her standard line: 'Learn to fill your time with work'."

Rose's tale brought applause of camaraderie and solidarity.

"Did you ever think of quitting?" someone asked.

"Yes. But it is not that easy to say nggak betah and walk away when the wages are good." The chair was dismayed: Does a generous wage give total license?

Now it was the turn of the second one.

"I have no sob story; but to my mistress, the domestic staff just do not exist. It is hard to put up with invisibility. Some way she should know we exist. So, one day, when the master of the house was away, I put both clocks forward by one hour. She sensed something was amiss. But she is dumb. She did not work it out. As usual, she asked the driver to come the next day at 7 a.m. She was fidgeting and worked up when he did not show up till 8 a.m. When he arrived, she screamed at him. Though startled, he stood his ground and said he had come at 7 a.m. Confused, she rang up a friend and got wised up."

"Did she not go for you?"

"No."

"Then she has a good sense of humor."

"No. She was shaken, takutlah."

"Is she different now?"

"Not exactly; but the smirk is gone."

"Well done," the voices murmured.

The chair shook her head.

The third girl took the stand. There was palpable suspense.

"I am Cynthy," she said. "I assert that a good mistress is a myth, a fairy tale." Strangely, nobody seemed shocked. She continued.

"My mistress' husband once hired a maid for her, someone very special: competent and exceptionally flexible. Soon she had made the mistress redundant. Angry, she fired her. The husband knew this would happen. Innocently he asked 'What happened, dear?' She said 'The inevitable. I fired her.' 'Why?' he asked. 'Don't be naive,' she fumed. 'As you men think, we don't need maids to dig trenches with their teeth. Maids quench our thirst to be bossy. Bossiness is not just a feature of the mistress-maid relationship; it is inherent in it'."

Someone in the gathering yelled, "How do you know this, Cynthy?"

Carried away, she shrieked. "Her husband confided and cautioned me. Lest I did not understand he added, 'Nyonya, buaya besar, awas.' After a loaded pause added, "What else do you think?"

That was titillation. Apprehending that a whiff of something risque had descended, the chair ruled that any reference to tuans was out of order. But Cynthy had not yet finished. "The trouble is, most of them are dowdy, and bundle-shaped; not pretty, like us. Jealous. They have no self-control."

The chair was dismayed. The proceedings were becoming gross and one-sided. The chair still thought that a good mistress may exist somewhere. So she asked: "Those who want to speak up for their mistresses please raise your hands."

One by one, the entire gathering stood up and with tears rolling down their eyes, dramatically folded their hands behind their backs and solemnly stood rooted, motionless. It was heart- rending, indeed.

The chair, mesmerized, and overcome by a noble rage, moaned: "Yes, for us the grass is not green, this side or the other side. We are flowers born to blush unseen and die."

-- G.S. Edwin