There have been a depravity in juicy dating stories because I've been too busy surviving. Think I'm kidding?Remember my encouraging post about making the most of what you have? [10 days ago...go check it out;)] Well, that's not a full-proof plan; it's simply taking the high road. When that plan doesn't work, one needs to devise a plan to Jump Ship! Forget Jack, let go.So, it's about time to share my first aupair experience: atrocious, awful, astonishing just to give you a taste. These are my confessions.... "just when I thought all I can say..." #usherbabyI signed up to be an aupair in Madrid, Spain for a family of 5 whom I interviewed via Skype and was awarded the 2 1/2 month position on camera. The dad informed me their village was 20 minute train ride from Madrid and I would have my own room and bathroom on the third floor of their home, which doubles as their playroom. No cleaning is necessary since the primary goal is familiarizing the kids with English and babysitting occasionally one night on a weekend or two. Outlined in the aupair program is that aupairs are not to exceed 6 hours of work a day unless an emergency. FYI. I maintained contact with the family for the months leading up to the position's start date and I reached out to everyone on the list of references of previous aupairs. One of which was their current aupair and some of the others (that responded) said they had worked with the family a couple years ago. The overwhelming conclusion was: the mother is very strict and you must be "tidy" but, they are a great family. When I arrived, the dad was eager to practice his English with me and continuously had to remind me to slow down with my speech. This isn't an abnormal request from practically anyone that converses with me at one point or another. If the Tasmanian Devil could talk, I would be a primary example of it. I was introduced to the children, whom were all off to bed and then I was introduced to the rules. They seemed standard until the mother put her input in.
I was slightly confused why all the visible food was restricted for my consumption when this was part of our agreement: room and board and equivalent to 60 US Dollars a week. A WEEK for teaching three children English, wake (these kids are NOT morning people), feed, assist, and bring them and their puny dog to school, then pick them up and take them to various activities, walk the dog two more times, fold laundry, do the dishes daily, homework, and coax them to bed every night at approximately 10:45. I inquired, for clarity, what food I was allowed to eat. Ramen noodles (which I didn't even eat in college), rice, sandwiches with turkey and cheese, cereal, homemade yogurt the dad makes, and what they were having for dinner that night. Two days later, the mom retracted cereal from the list because "it's for the kids." ThI began voicing my concerns to my loved ones back home and the consensus was, I'm really strong and basically, I can do it. They started to find it kind of humorous the dinners we would be served: artichoke (no sauce, no meat, no bread- just 2 artichokes) or collard greens with two dime size pieces of ham. Tuna stuffed into a hard boiled egg or beet soup with boiled fish rounds. Yes, fish (God knows what kind) cut/shaped/morphed into round disks and boiled in water and plopped onto a plate. The youngest told me I couldn't eat the yogurt because it's for *proceeded to list everyone in the house but me* and I said that's one thing your dad actually said I could eat. I live here and I need to be able to eat too. How tragic is it that his parents are training him to treat people like this. I began to feel like "the help" and almost less of a human being. Then, I got reprimanded for using the wrong small towel as a wash rag. and she said "you can buy you." In disbelief that in a room and board situation, where I'm already not being substantially fed, that I was being asked, or told rather, to dip into my 16 euros a day (m-f) I said, "Um I have to spend some of the very little money I have on something to clean myself that should be part of living here? I don't have towels or anything." "You can *gestures washing with your hands* "I need to maintain my hygiene in order to take care of your kids. I didn't bring a towel or sheets or anything." But then I had to reword that sentence since she didn't understand. Who tells their guest that's caring for their kids that they have to buy their own wash rag when u folded wash rags of her's YESTERDAY?! "I'll see what I can find." Meanwhile, the downstairs bathroom has a BASKET of facecloths. I was enduring but not enjoying living in Spain. I worked for the weekend just like in the states and went to Madrid when time permitted but, the advertised "20 minute train ride" came with strings attached. This train ride is a fast train that goes about 90 mph so the actual drive time distance from their village to Madrid is 45-50 minutes. OH! And the walk to train station from their doorstep was 25 minutes (23 if you walk like you have ants in your pants). I bought some edibles, no not pot, and cooked some of them in the oven with one of the only oven dishes I could find. I washed it thoroughly after but it still smelled a little like food, so I put it in the dishwasher. Big mistake. HUGE. The mom grilled me when she opened this dishwasher later that night for what I cooked in it and why did I use the oven. "Oven, you can't."
I tried to stand my ground because I have no desire to eat every lunch out of the microwave; not to mention, I was trying to harness the poquito (little- see! I'm picking up the language of the land) power I did have. "No. Sorry, no," was all she could articulate in English. Turning, tears leaked from my tear ducts like a neglected faucet. Quickly, I swiped them away, but the oldest had already seen me. He spoke a sentence in Spanish to his mom and she didn't respond. I continued to help him with his project as his siblings were annoyed that I denied their request to play with them in MY ROOM. Remember, the third floor is my room and the playroom wrapped into one perfect little package. My bed is conveniently folded into the couch, complete with springs galore. . . . Trying to be respectful of their culture and their home, I continued to play by their obscene rules. I went to bed hungry every night and joked with my friends about the airplane cookies I ate in my closet and the bottle of sangria I bought at the corner store, strategically hidden in between my jacket and bottle of hairspray. The kids offered very little respect and were fairly defiant in speaking English with me when the parents weren't around. During one of my pleading sessions with them, the youngest snapped that "I'm always on my mobile" which is a bold, italics, and underlined lie. The oldest tried to guess my screensaver code one too many times and locked me out weeks ago, so I left my phone in my purse when around the kids. This infuriated me that the youngest accused me of this because this would only be ammunition for the mom. I corrected him, but I'm sure it did no good. The backlash from the mother rained like Seattle. The dad was very conscious of energy used-- hence the dish and clothes washers must be full before running, the lights should be off, regardless if the new worker in your home is walking down the 3 flights of stairs, soap should be watered down to last longer, and coffee is made every other day so you can warm up the left overs on the opposing day. To comply with this request, I kept the colorful mug (1 of 10 or so unique mugs) I used for my coffee as my water cup for the rest of the day. I refilled it all day. The mom inquired who used that mug and then informed me that I could ONLY use the Star Wars mugs because the others are "special; Stephanie cannot have special." My best friend had been researching flights for me, but I couldn't justify throwing away 3 flights (my one back home AND my round-trip flight to meet my Irish friend in London). I also didn't want to be a quitter, but boy could I feel the life draining out of me. I deserve better than this. I am worth SOMETHING. I reached out to other aupairs in the Madrid area for comradely. I was so isolated. I didn't know the language, I was in a little village where everything closes early, I work like 8 hours a day for no food and a crappy bed that the kids are able to access anytime, and cannot seem to do anything right to the queen bee of the house. I know this isn't a brutal dating story, but it's brutal none the less. I would make a recipe to parallel this experience, but I'm not permitted to use the oven so, buy your own desserts.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
April 2022
Categories
All
|