“Ok, so you think you’ll definitely get over there tomorrow?” I asked.

“I can’t say 100% because we still aren’t sure about the weather. But, assuming the roads are Ok, your job will get done.”

“Alright, well, please do your best. Can’t remember if I mentioned this to you or the other person I spoke with, but I live out of town and this is my rental unit. I have someone scheduled to move in on the 1st, so it’s pretty important I get this done beforehand.”

“I understand…sir.”

She threw in the belated ‘sir’ in an attempt to sound more professional.  Not that I cared. She and I were probably the same age. She was just trying to do her job.  I was one of probably 20 people she had to call for the third straight day about rescheduling. A three day ice storm in Atlanta had shut down the city and everyone was dealing as best they could.

“So will you be the one who actually goes over there?”

“Yes, most likely.”

“Ok. And, what is your name?”

“My name is Christine.”

“Got it. Christine. And, the service I’m getting, the ‘Move Out Clean’, is that just a good once over or does it do something a normal clean job doesn’t?” I asked.

“It’s the service people get when they move out of an apartment. It cleans everything but also checks things like the ceiling fans and the refrigerator.”

“Perfect. I just wanted to make sure. The girl moving in has already been a bit picky so I don’t want to give her anything to complain about. But, she probably will anyway.”

“I understand, sir,” she said, remembering the ‘sir’ this time. “We’ll get it Persnickity clean.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I just said, we’ll get it Persnickity clean.” Her voice cracked. She’d been uncomfortable saying it the first time. I felt bad about making her repeat it.

“Oh. Gotcha.” I recalled that ‘Persnickity’ was the name of the company.  “Perfect. Alright, well, thank you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Persnickity clean? It was clear that she hated saying it and I wondered how many times a day she had to sign off with that stupid phrase. I doubt this was how she envisioned things for herself, mid-20s and cleaning apartments.  And, every time she repeated that company slogan, every time she had to say ‘Persnickity clean’, she was reminded of this reality. 

Throughout our conversation, it was clear that Christine loathed her job.  I knew how she felt. I’d had that job. Not that specific one, but I’d had plenty of those jobs. We’ve all had at least one of those.  A job you dreaded from the time you woke up until the second you left because it made you feel like a lesser version of yourself. A job that made you question your self dignity each day.  Yet, like Christine, you still buck up and manage to put forth some pride in your work.  

It’s easy to do a job you love.  The real grind is doing a job you hate.  That’s where Christine was.  Grinding.  Still telling each customer, ‘Persnickity clean’, despite how much she hated saying it. I wouldn’t have known the difference if she hadn’t. Her boss wouldn’t have known either. But, she wasn’t cutting any corners. She said the stupid slogan like she’d been instructed to do. She did her job. She was a grinder.

Thank you, Christine. Good for you. Keep grinding. Get my place Persnickity clean.