When I first stumbled upon the ad for a "specialized cleaning service" seeking energetic and open-minded staff, I was intrigued. "Must enjoy costumes," it read. As an out-of-work actress (like everyone my age), costumes were my jam, and cleaning was... well, something I could definitely do. Little did I know, the "specialized" part of the job would raise more than a few eyebrows—including my own.

The orientation was held at a nondescript office space downtown. I was greeted by an older lady, the bubbly entrepreneur who owned the business. Her previous successful venture? A bikini barista coffee shop. Apparently, caffeinated beverages served by ladies in bikinis was a hit, and Tina figured, why not apply the same concept to dusting and mopping?

"Our clients love a bit of flair with their service!" She exclaimed, unveiling the wardrobe options: lingerie, schoolgirl outfits, and French maid costumes. My fellow new-hires and I exchanged looks that ranged from amused to mildly horrified. But hey, the pay was good, and how hard could it be to vacuum in a corset?

Seeing my hesitation, Lana (The manger) reassured me, “Don’t worry, dear. It’s all about making house cleaning a blast!”

I’m a petite so some of the more mildly more dignified costumes were unfortunately to big lol. I chose this black lingerie costume for my debut, that was literally skintight. It came with a feather duster that felt more like a prop than a tool, and heels that were definitely not OSHA approved lol. We would cover our outfits with a long coat until we were in the house/apartment.

Day one was an eye-opener. My first client was a young guy who seemed more embarrassed than I was. He spent the entire two hours hiding in his home office, only emerging to offer me a glass of water, his face was bright red when I finished, “Great job,” he muttered from behind his laptop screen as I left, possibly relieved that the ordeal was over for both of us.

On day two our manger Lana got me a school girl uniform that fit me, I was scheduled to clean a large house where the man of the house, insisted on following me around and explaining the sentimental value of every knick-knack I dusted. “This one,” he said, holding up a ceramic frog, “was from our trip to Florida. Funny story Harold got sunburned so bad, he matched this little red hat it’s wearing!” I smiled and nodded while clutching my feather duster like a lifeline, dressed in an outfit that screamed 'I’d rather be at detention'.

By day three, I found myself perfecting the art of vacuuming while maintaining the dignity of my costume. It was an art form, really, a ballet of sorts. Gliding on the edges of rugs, twirling around the coffee table, all while avoiding any actual dancing because, well, the outfit wasn’t made for breakdancing, and we wouldn’t want any wardrobe malfunctions.

The gig was a blast in the most unexpected ways, and despite the unconventional attire, it felt strangely empowering. Who knew wielding a mop while in character could be such a confidence booster? Unfortunately, like all good things, the cleaning service came to an end after just two months. It turned out that while people loved coffee served by someone in a bikini, they were a bit more hesitant to have their toilets scrubbed by someone in a lingerie.

Sandy took it all in stride, chuckling as she handed me my last paycheck. “Well, it was worth a shot, wasn’t it? Thanks for being part of this wild ride.” I actually ended up working in the coffee shop but as a nerdy 19 year old it wasn’t for me lol but that’s a story for another day.