Woman from the Elevator

*This blog should've been posted last Friday.

I wasn’t able to post anything last night because I was too busy talking to my cousin and looking for my future “Harvey.” I would explain Harvey’s would-be existence soon, after I get a hold of him. If I can’t find a suitable “Harvey” I’d probably have a “Temis” or a “Tart.” It doesn’t make any sense now so…anyways, this post is the end of all worries for the past couple of days. So far so good. The news is less jaded now. As far as I know no one else is filing for bankruptcy. Our Regional heads flew in from all parts of the globe to reassure our company’s steadfast growth. My dad said that my insurance company is stronger and independent more than ever, according to his inside information. AIG has been rescued by the Federal Government. My cousin is apparently coping up with stress and gracefully living with us now. I feel that I’m this close to holding my Harvey; and most especially it’s Payday today. Thank god. I’ve been eating from my savings for the past two months that I'm slowly being a candidate to file for bankruptcy.

As soon as I parked my car in an almost deserted lot, like 6:30 AM, I went to the canteen had my usual hefty breakfast and read the remaining chapters of Ghost by Alan Lightman. After a few hours realizing that I should be at work, I took the elevator and went back to my office. Before reaching my floor, I stopped at one level while a 40ish-50ish lady with a short hair wearing a blue city-service uniform entered. I’m not really familiar with what they should be properly called. I hear most people call them ATE or Manang. Some call them in first name basis. While some sosyaleras plainly call them “janitress.” But I think they’re more than mere janitress. They’re more like a universal corporate mothers focused on keeping our lives in the office manageable. I’m sure most companies now, especially global corporations, outsource services like these. They come to work daily just like any of us, managing whatever floor that is assigned to them. Their main tasks involve managing the pantries, washing mountains of mugs and plates, cleaning the pantry tables, making coffee and making sure the pantry inventory is updated. They also maintain comfort rooms keeping it clean and well stocked. And most of the times, they make rounds at the floor attending to every person’s needs whenever they request for things like trash disposal, tissues etc. or logistics concerns. They’re all around. They’re employed. They’re efficient and they’re phenomenal.

It is no wonder, with how they work with a pleasant demeanor, everyone on the floor knows and loves them. Staff, analysts to VPS and Regional heads share jokes with them once in a while. Some (including me) abuse their kindness sometimes by leaving our mugs filthy and finding it neatly stacked and cleaned at the pantry the following morning. A newbie might as well get cozy and familiar with them. As far as I see it, you may not know all the VPS of different departments on your floor, but you sure would know who these magnificent city service ladies and men are.

So the funny incident was, when I saw this 40ish to 50ish lady entering the elevator, my heart just plummeted. I can’t explain why exactly. I’m really not the type of person to care with other people’s business anyways. I know we all have different professions and it doesn’t matter to me what people do. As long as we’re gainfully employed, then we deserve all the respect and understanding in the world. But how come I feel so slightly drawn to this lady? She comes in with a bag of tissues in her hand. She enters the elevator full of professionals going to their respective floors. She comes alone sheepishly and projects the feeling of inferiority towards us. She keeps looking down and fiddling with her plastic bag. Right there I knew why. She could be someone’s mother, auntie, grandmother, and her face is so nurturing that even MY kind of heart could break. At that moment I wanted to strike a conversation with her. Hug her and pay homage to her. Damn it! I even felt I wanted to give her my sweldo! What is wrong with me? These moments come rare, but it's true that I'd most likely fall hard for grown ups who have lived their lives yet chose to work with their uniform, doing the things they’re not supposed to do. I’m sure they needed the money. Who doesn’t? But comparing myself to this woman, this woman just wanted a good and simple life. That’s what she’s trying to do, whereas I would like bigger things like thousands of promotions and recognitions. She doesn’t care if people look down on her for doing what she does. I don’t even know if they have promotions. But I feel she deserves something more.

In the elevator, I still looked at her and wanted to throw her a smile. I’m feeling such a complete nutcase that she might think I’m crazy. I even thought that I might offend her when she wouldn’t want me to feel this way. As far as the whole world’s concerned, what she’s doing is respectable and honorable. But I can’t help it. There’s something about her when I saw her face and aura. I imagined her at her own home, taking care of her own house, wearing her comfortable “day dress." But who am I to say that she’s not capable of doing that while working here? Actually, thinking about it now, while I was having breakfast at the cafeteria this morning, I saw a neatly dressed waiter, same age as the woman who came in the elevator, cleaning up some tables. He does it meticulously and efficiently without any traces of disgust. This day, my first pay day I realized, is a reflection of sorts.

The whole time in the elevator I’m looking at her and wanted to slap myself for being such and idiot. I wanted to hug her and somehow be with her. If that’s not crazy, I don’t know what is. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not adopted, so it must be just a natural feeling. Maybe God has pulled massive strings in my heart. But before I could do anything, I reached my floor. I went out and slightly glanced at her. She was still looking at her plastic bag, but nevertheless I threw a smile. As long as she’s happy, I’m sure it’s enough to shield her from whatever doubts that may land her head.

I went to my desk and saw my colleague. Without hesitation, I shared with him my experience. I wanted to ask if he was familiar of the city-service woman whom I saw. He confirmed based on my description. While I was telling him my reflection, finding the tendency to cry, he just looked at me as if I’ve lost my marbles. But he listened and helped ease out my isolation. After that, I went to the pantry and got some coffee. Maybe caffeine may take out these morning blues, but it didn’t. I just feel honored to have seen her. God knows what my damn feelings are. Maybe he could explain it to me one of these days. He knows that I just want to make sure that the men and women who wear those uniforms, doing stuff that we are lazy to do and finding the happiness to enjoy their lives are shielded by the knowledge that they are highly respected, loved and cared for. We may be too busy to express it. Some are even too scared and sheepish to reach out, but they deserve more. I just pray to God that whatever things or recognitions that we couldn’t be able to give in this world, will be presented upon them in His kingdom.

*I pledge from now on that I’ll clean my mug and probably leave a jar of chocolates on my desk for them to get. But God knows it’s not enough. I think I should do more.