Notes from a maid convention

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