A Clean Flush
I volunteered to clean the upstairs bathroom every week. Sounds small, I know, but it was a big jump for me.
I wanted to do something to help with the cleaning and knew from experience that washing, drying and folding clothes is not for me.
So, Saturday we had a training session, an eye-opening training session. I figured cleaning a bathroom meant washing the sink, wiping down the toilet and picking up things.
“First you have to take all the stuff off the sink,” Leigh said, moving the hair brush, electric toothbrush, tooth whitening solution, soap, deodorant and paper cup. She held up a bottle of industrial strength liquid that looked like something McGyver would use to melt concrete. “Then you squirt on the areas around the faucet that get gunked up. “ She squirted it.
“Don’t get it on your hands.”
I was becoming frightened.
What other flesh-melting weapons did she have hiding in her cleaning arsenal?
“Let it soak while you go to the tub,” she continued. “Scrub it by hand with this sponge using Bartender’s Friend. Get all the areas on the sides. Don’t forget the faucet. ”
I thought Bartender’s Friend was someone who bought me a drink.
This was looking a bit complicated. I was beginning to think I needed a degree in chemistry, protective face gear and heavy rubber gloves to complete the mission.
“Next you do the toilet. “ She dumped some ammonia into the bowl. “Then use Lysol Wipes to clean the rim, the seat, behind the seat and the sides.” She hauled out the toilet bowl brush. “Scrub the inside of the bowl until it’s clean.”
She went on. Haul out the throw rugs and shake them outside. Pour ammonia on the bath mat to get rid of the scum. Sweep the floor. Clean the walls where the dog lies and rubs dirt into them. Wash the mirror.
She handed me the cleaning materials. “Thanks . Good luck.”
And she left.
I was on my own.
In the next post I’ll let you know how I made out.