The Polish Maids

Now, granted… I, personally, am not certain the ladies were polish, but that’s what I was told.

So, Saturday is our last day in Chicago (well, technically Carol Stream, but who the fuck knows where the hell that is). We have to be “out of our room” by 1030 for the bi-weekly maids to clean. So, bit before then, we have our things on the bed, all packed up and off the floor, ready for the really nice, polite, pretty maids to clean. We head downstairs.

Otto left his wallet (which, since the day before we left NC he left his real wallet, a leather cardholder with moneyclip, in his shorts to be washed and ruined, was simply a few cards and a $10 bill binder-clipped together) on the end table in the bedroom.

Tanya (the previously mentioned wife of my husband’s father, and all around bigot, apparently) comes up to Otto and is very worried, telling him that he left his money on the table and that he should go get it because otherwise it might find its way into the pockets of the maids. Because, you know those polish people. She was practically panicked about it.


She was genuinely surprised when a while later, when the nice young women were outside, waiting for their ride, that the money was still there.

Apparently, Otto and I do not understand about those nice, polite, friendly, very good at their job, polish people. Oh well.

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