This was not meant as a racist remark, but Beulah, when I was growing up, was the most famous African American maid on the planet often referred to as the black Hazel, though in those politically incorrect days the term colored was used.
Each morning a black woman comes into Starbucks, nods, then sits in front of me.
But before settling in with her coffee and New York Post, she cleans.
I mean CLEANS.
I watch her scrub the table as if it was just delivered in a gunny sack after being used to dissect a corpse.
I never think in terms of germs. Hey, this is New York, the…
you can catch practically anything, capital of the world…so it’s best to make friends with your neighborhood bacteria.
I’m dying to ask this woman a few questions like, how much exactly do you spend monthly on hand sanitizer, and do you douse yourself with Lysol before leaving the house, something my mother would understand since she’d swab the driveway with it like it was the gangplank to a slaughterhouse.
Oh well, I just may have to Google a little Buelah to set me straight on a few things, along with a Hazel chaser.
I’m just worried then I’ll feel the need to clean.