Last night I was turned away from Edgewood College Theatre's “Nickel and Dimed” the play reviewed last week by Christian. It was my fault I showed up only 5 minutes before show time and was placed at the bottom of the waiting list. Everyone got off the list except for me, of course, and another woman.

Disappointed I turned away knowing it was for the best. Maybe someone else who wasn’t aware of what it’s like to work in these jobs will get more out of the play than I would.

I wasn’t going to see the play to get a picture of what it’s like working low-end jobs. I didn’t read the book to learn anything; I lived it. To be honest I was secretly happy to be turned away it took a lot for me to even go. I’ve had some crappy jobs myself and even though they were bad each and every one of them had taught me a lesson in life. I just wasn't sure if I wanted to see it on stage.

While in college my dad made me work in a factory making $6.00 an hour. For three summers and during my winter breaks I spent four 10-hour days making couplings for construction trucks and Japanese cars. My dad wanted me to work there because he thought that by having a factory job I would realize what my life would be like if I didn’t graduate from college. He wanted to make sure I got my degree.

His plan worked. I would get up at 5 a.m. to work from 6 a.m. until 4 p.m. One day on my lunch break I was telling my friend I couldn’t wait to start school again. “Just a couple more days” I said. The plant supervisor turned to us and said, “I have 18 more years.” It was like someone punched me in the stomach. This woman would have to go into work day after day after day sitting in a plant with a temperature of over 90 degrees doing the most mind-numbing work while breathing fumes from the machines and getting these annoying metal slivers in her fingers.

After I graduated from college, 3 months after Sept. 11, I couldn’t find any work. I moved to Madison and worked in the West Towne Mall as a sales clerk.

Like Barbara Ehrenreich, author of Nickel and Dimed, I got a job at Merry Maids. I needed to make some quick cash to pay for my volunteer trip to India. I thought I would only be there for two months but when I returned from my trip I couldn’t find work. I needed a job fast so I went back to Merry Maids until I could find something better. It took me seven months.

This wasn’t an experiment. I wasn’t doing any kind of study for a book I was seriously working there. Ehrenreich was doing this work but she knew it would end that she had a better job and life waiting for her.

For those of you who read the chapter in Ehrenreich’s book titled “Scrubbing in Maine” yes, it’s really like that. Don't let those commercials of dancing maids fool you.

Most of the houses I cleaned were, to put it mildly, disgusting. Sure there was the occasional mansion and friendly customers but for the most part these homes were filthy. Dead mice in the bathroom, mold, animal feces and urine you name it we cleaned it despite that fact the U.S. Department of Labor's Occupational Safety & Health Administration (OSHA) had laws against it. Most of the women were afraid to say anything for fear they would lose their job.

We were required to scrub floors on our hands and knees with the occasional customer standing over you with smug expressions on their faces. Once a maid came back to the office crying because she had cleaned a woman’s floor on her hands and knees and when she got done the woman took a white cloth, wiped the floor and said: Clean it again.

My cleaning partner told me about the time she cleaned a sink in a bathroom and the customer came in to brush her teeth. After dirtying the sink she told my partner to clean it again. This same woman stood and watched me try in vain to scrub a blueberry stain out of the kitchen cabinet. “Yeah, my son did that last week, she said smiling.“I was going to wipe it off but I knew you would be here in a week so I just left it.”

I vowed right then and there that I would never have someone come into my house to clean up after me. I understand there are people who need help cleaning their homes when they're older or if they have chidren and are just too busy to clean. But I would never allow another human being to scrub my bathroom tub or wash the floor on their knees. And I would never ever demand another person to wipe up my dog’s mess on the kitchen floor and get mad when they hesitated.

Feeling like I had nothing to lose I quit after calling OSHA and getting my employers a hefty fine for improper working conditions such as not having proper work and safety equipment and having us clean homes so filthy we had to wear masks to clean them.

I had a conversation with a woman, a maid for another cleaning company, who told me her husband left her with three kids. She lived in a small apartment just barely getting by. A native Spanish speaker she said she was trying hard to learn English but it was difficult because after working all day she had her children to take care of. She said no one would hire her until she improved her English. But how could she? She had no time and no money to go to school.

For all of you who saw the play post your comments. What did you get out of it? How did the actors portray their characters? Were they crying, did they look ashamed? If you didn’t see it in their faces than you didn’t get an accurate portrayal of what it’s like to work in poverty. For those of you out there who have had a low-end job, and I know there are many, post your own personal experiences.

Maybe if we can understand what it's like to be on the other end of the counter we'll tip our waitresses more. And hopefully we'll have a little more patience when speaking with the young Hispanic woman who is working long hard hours, raising a family and in her brief moment of free time learning English.