Our staff accommodation is still in the process of (painfully) slowly being furnished.
Yesterday a couple of cleaners from the Housekeeping department lugged a wardrobe up the stairs with the intention of installing it in our bedroom.
“Look,” I said, before it was even down the hallway, “we really don’t have room for this right now unless we move some stuff around.”
I wasn’t kidding. I haven’t measured our rooms yet but with the laser-like precision of my eyeballs I estimate it’s got to be less than 300 square feet (8m x 7m ish). It’s SMALL. And this wardrobe, was not.
“It’s ok, we’ll put it over there, in front of the window,” one of the cleaners replied.
I stood there, half paralysed, not sure how to state the obvious without being offensive. Then it just tumbled out in a whine: “But then no light will come through the window.”
“Ok, ok, we put it here…”
“In front of the light switch? Um… I need to use the switch to turn the light on.”
I scanned the room. “You could put it next to the bed if you turned the bed around the other way.”
They ignored the bit about turning the bed around and proceeded to try and jam the wardrobe in beside the bed as it was, aligned with its long side against the wall. It’s both confusing and amusing watching people attempt to do something that is clearly NOT going to work, but even the cleaners eventually had to accept that this baby just wasn’t going to fit.
I cleared my throat and suggested again that they turn the bed around first, so that the short end was against the wall, to give them more room for the wardrobe.
“No, no madam – the bed is square. No more room if you turn it around.”
I looked at the bed. It was not square.
“It’s not square, see, this side is longer, and this side is shorter?”
“No no, bed is square. All sides the same.”
I looked at the bed again and blinked. It was still not square.
“I don’t think it’s square…”
“No, no madam, it is…”
On and on we went. Yes it is! No it bloody well is not! Well, a slightly more diplomatic version. Both the cleaners agreed, the bed is square. They yelled down the hallway and I heard the other cleaners clattering towards us to have a nosy. Their verdict: yes, the bed is square. A slow grin was spreading virally across their faces. White woman, not so smart, it said. I kept looking at the bed. Was it square? Shit. I had been so sure.
“Look, just leave the wardrobe here and I’ll sort it out.”
Disappointed, the cleaners took their leave.
With Mila busy making tents out of the sheets I dragged the bed out into the middle of the room, turned it round 90 degrees and pushed it back towards the wall. Then I pushed in the wardrobe beside it. Victory dance! There was miles of room between the bed and the wardrobe: I’d gained at least a few feet more room, which is a lot when you live in a matchbox.
Why do these tiny victories mean so much? I guess because we’re all living in each other’s pockets, on this tiny island. Small becomes big. And I admit, I bought into it. Standing back and admiring my own handiwork (and clearly my own genius in being right about the bed shape) I couldn’t wait for the cleaners to arrive the next day.
“TA-DA!” I wanted to crow. “Bed is NOT SQUARE.”
Expat Travels 