Free Cleaning Up New York by Bob Rosenthal

hints to make cleaning easier to do.
    Wear clothes that are loose-fitting. You want to be free moving. Sneakers are good to wear because they are easy to crouch in. Dress coolly.
    Do some exercise to loosen the muscles in the body. Roll the head around the neck very slowly for a few revolutions. Let the head be limp and fall forward as it slowly rounds the neck. Reverse and go in the other direction. Bend over at the waist a few times to limber up the back muscles. Stretch your arms high over your head. Rotate your shoulders. Stand on your toes. Get loose.
    Listen to music. It should be music that you really like. It should bring your mood up. Music of high sentiment or personal meaning is good because it can make you cry. There is something about weeping and cleaning that make them go hand in hand. Music moves your body without involving your will. The radio is really meant for you. Radio is confidential and immediate like you are.
    Try to arrange your cleaning hours to fall during the part of the day when you are on the upswing. I like to clean when I am tired and sleepy. When I am done cleaning, I am awake and clearheaded. The idea is to let the work be beneficial for bothyou and the apartment. When you are done cleaning, you should feel happy and still have energy to have fun. Cleaning can turn exhaustion into restoration if done with grace and the will to better spirits.
    Have all the supplies you will need. Here is a simple and basic supply list: Murphy’s Oil Soap or equivalent, Ammonia, Cleansing Powder, Bucket, Rags, Mop, Broom, Dustpan, and Vacuum Cleaner. The last item is not essential but it can be one’s powerful ally.

    I am wringing out a dark mop over the kitchen floor when Cherry Malard pops in to say her girlfriend is interested in having me clean. “Talk to Kathy,” she says, pointing to the phone. Kathy and I make a date for the next week after my regular job with Cherry. Kathy Applegate lives on Second Avenue in the Sixties, which is only eight blocks away from Cherry’s apartment. The next week, I finish up at Cherry’s and proceed to wearily walk down Second Avenue. I stop off in a dime store and take four photos of myself for a quarter. I fall down the chute looking drugged, heavy-lidded, and mopey. I comb my hair and do eyeball exercises, take off my glasses and straighten my back. Put another quarter in the machine, transform my looks to bug-eyed and wired. Up four floors in a tiny elevator. I go to work.
    The door opens into the kitchen; on the left is a bright yellow counter that supports a photographic enlarger. On the right is a stove, a sink, some cabinets, and a half-size refrigerator. The bathroom is straight ahead, as is the bedroom area where you turn a corner and look into the living area ending against a rowof windows. The windows are covered with plants. Some plants are on window shelves and the others hang from the ceiling. There is a sofa covered with a bright Indian bird pattern and above the sofa hangs a bird cage made of red wooden sticks and inside are two tropical finches. There is a wall completely recovered, first with a rough cloth and then with photographs, prints, beads, and locks of hair.
    Kathy Applegate is in her thirties and teaches English in the public schools. She is ash blonde with a slim figure and a bright eager face. But it seems to me that she is very particular. She tells me how to clean everything. After breaking me in for a while, she goes out. The phone rings. I pick it up and say hello. “Kathy?” a male voice inquires. “She went out to do some shopping. Can I take a message?” “No.” Hangs up. I get a premonition that someone is going to come in the door soon and it won’t be Kathy. I decide to do something obvious and start to vacuum the sofa, which I figure I could use to hide behind. In a couple of minutes, I hear the faint clicking of the door lock opening. A big muscular guy walks out of the kitchen. I