"… I have thoughts about why are these people so darn lazy…"
Born in Oaxaca, Josette is the youngest of three children; her siblings are Orlando and Gabriel. At three years of age, Josette left Oaxaca to join her mother and siblings in the United States. She dedicates this short story to her mother Teresa Fuentes, “my hero.” A Spanish-speaking immigrant in the United States, Teresa endured many hardships and indignities for the sake of her three children, foregoing her own dreams and desires to work hard for a better future for them. This publication of Josette’s short story, “Mrs. Blah,” is one of many signs that Teresa’s sacrifices for her children have not been in vain.
Mrs. Blah had me making them drinks like I was a certified bartender.
“Silvia, put away this!” It was a pot I had to put away, that she couldn’t manage to put away herself when she was literally one foot away from where it belonged, but of course—I had to obey. “Yes, Mrs. Blah.”
Then, a minute later, I hear her fussing about how things are not perfect for the birthday party dinner. She had two other helpers, but it seemed like I was the only one she saw.
“Silvia, take out these chairs!”
I took the chairs out.
“No, Silvia never mind. Take these out instead.”
“Of course, Mrs. Blah. Mrs. Blah, can you ask Stacy to help me, please?”
She said, “I’ll have her come, if you insist.”
For some reason, she was annoyed or bothered I asked for help. I stood thinking, “What does she think I am—superwoman?” Was I wrong, asking for help? Well, sorry, Mrs. Blah, but I ain’t Burger King; you can’t have it your way.
Finally, guests started to arrive. Her bossing me around was coming to an end, so I thought. But now, I didn’t only have to please her, but 18 other snobby, rich people that think they are better than you. Mrs. Blah had me making them drinks like I was a certified bartender.
“Silvia, I want a vodka cranberry,” a man with a hot pink cashmere sweater said. I gave him a blank look just because he was seriously asking me to make him a vodka cranberry, like he couldn’t do it himself; it’s pretty self-explanatory, how to make it. Again, I have thoughts about why are these people so darn lazy and can’t they give me a break! Yeah…they believe I was asking for too much, since it was my job.
Nine o’clock came around finally. They finished having supper. I hear Mrs. Blah’s voice: “Silvia, come and pick up the table.” I think that was the first time I was excited to hear her voice, ‘cause I knew it was almost over.
It would have been nice to get a thank you from Mrs. Blah or her friends, but that of course didn’t happen, and I’m back to why are they snobby and have no manners? Can someone explain?