The truth has a smell of strawberries

When I tell people that I work as a cleaner in a big hotel in the city centre I always see a shade of disgust on their faces. Probably they are right that it’s not the nicest job. Sometimes I’m terrified by the mess I need to tidy up after the clients. Sometimes I’m terrified by the clients, facing the mess they leave. But most of the times I’m curious… I’m morbidly curious about who they are and what brought them to the hotel for the night, these nights. Maybe I’m too nosy but before I smell their used towels and examine the creases on their sheets, I observe them in the corridors and in the lifts, hiding behind my trolley, big enough to block the corridors and fill the lift, piled up with fresh bedding. For most of them I remain invisible despite the fact that they definitely see my trolley. And it’s good… it’s exactly as it should be. My invisibility is an advantage in my work as I can not only be curious, but I can also feed this curiosity, as I investigate the truth.

I met her in the corridor this morning. Her beauty emanated when she walked, carrying a bunch of roses, caring for them. She wasn’t pretty, but the way she moved, her walk, light but confident, her smile and the expression on her face was so unusual that I held my breath. She looked at me, she looked deep into my eyes and she said directly but with a note of embarrassment in her voice: 

- Good morning. I’m so sorry for the mess but I had a small accident with fresh strawberries.

I was so surprised that I couldn’t squeeze out any words. I tried to hide, I hoped that she had just walked away but she was still there, making my secret so naked that I felt the cold. She knew that I was going to discover her truth soon, and so she disclosed mine, making me her ally in her rented life.

- Fresh strawberries? Don’t worry, I won’t even open my mouth … won’t utter a word – I whispered to her so quietly that even I couldn’t hear. 

But she took my soundless words and wrapped them tightly with her roses in a plastic, rustling sheath.

When I tell people that I work as a cleaner in a big hotel in the city centre I always see a shade of disgust on their faces. Probably they are right that it’s not the nicest job. But they don’t know that this job lets me investigate the truth … which has a sweet smell of strawberries. And they won’t know this as I won’t utter a word… I promised…