Venus of Dublin

It was still dark out and the bus was rolling quietly on the empty streets.

Too early for the rest of the world, a bit too late for her.

She looked at her phone, 4:45. She still had 15 minutes before her shift started. She would have wished to get there at least 10 minutes earlier, so she can have a tranquil smoke before work. She was less and less confident that it will happen. That morning she could barely get out of bed, but at least she had caught the bus. That was most important. She looked out the bus window. So beautiful and peaceful.

She loved the city in the morning, it felt like a huge work of art, like a deserted world, just buildings hinting at a forsaken world. That was soon about to change. She turned her gaze to the few passengers on the bus. They were the first to break the silence of the city and many more will follow. Soon the streets will be flooded with people going in all directions, with cars, cyclists and prams. She loved that world too, buzzing with life, but she felt more at home in the stillness of the morning.

When she arrived here she was most impressed with the city, the buildings, the street. After that, she was fascinated by the people, and then, when it was all too much, she went back to her love of buildings. When she needed to hide, she would get a coffee and sit in a corner, hiding in plain sight next to a building, just being there, resting with the world in front and with the building having her back.

She had arrived.
“Thank you!”, she said while getting off the bus.
The bus driver mumbled something and drove off into the sunrise.

Time to play.
She went through the big doors of the building and, like a little rat, walked along the narrow corridors until she reached her destination. She pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the door marked Facilities. That was her domain, her office as she liked to call it.

After carefully stuffing her handbag out of reach in the back of her locker, she took off her raincoat and hung it neatly on the coat rack. She changed her clothes fast and out she went.

She did not like to be late and all the other women were waiting for her to give them the tools of the trade.
Pushing the big trolley she entered the huge, well lit canteen. They were there sitting around a table waiting for her.

“Good morning ladies!”
Some replied, some waived, they all started to fill their baskets with cleaning supplies. It was one of those rare moments when each of them knew what they had to do, no new comers, no pestering questions. Once they had all they needed, one by one they went to their designated area. They were like blue fairies scattering around the big, industrial building.

She took her own basket and with an empty refuse bag flying behind her like a train, she went to the executive suite. There, another key opens another door. Not everyone was allowed to clean this area, you had to be trusted. And she was. She had been working here for 9 years now.

Nobody knew where she was from, what her story was, but they all knew she did a cracking job, that she did not nose around, and that when she left a room it seemed untouched, except for the dust disappearing, the bins being emptied and the carpets vacuumed.

Over the years people came and went. Some made the initial effort, at least out of courtesy, to find out this or that about her, but she would pretend to be busy, or give evasive answers, and this way, nobody ever got to know her story.

Her name was Mia, she never gave her last name, and she spoke with an accent that was hard to place. She even had an admirer once, a determined Italian man, who was sure he was going to unravel her mystery. He even tried to trick her to speak her other language, you know like people do when they are really annoyed or embarrassed. It did not work with her, and after a brief conversation with HR he moved to a different location.

They had two hours to finish all the cleaning up, but Mia had to be twice as fast, because when she was done with her bit, she was supposed to visit the areas where the other women worked, to make sure the job was done properly. Nobody asked perfection of them, but they were expected to do a good job.

Mia liked her work, she did not feel it was beneath her, as many of her colleagues did. She felt content and liked knowing exactly what she had to do. She was not better than anyone, she was not beneath anyone. She would talk the same to everyone and everyone was worthy of respect.

What she did not like was a job poorly done, she found that unacceptable, and as she looked at a desk that had supposedly just been cleaned, Mia was annoyed. Really annoyed!

All the little toys the owner of the desk had were knocked over, the monitors had been moved, the desk most definitely seemed touched, but not necessarily cleaned.

Mia knew who had done that, she knew who was assigned to that area. She took a deep breath and without losing a moment she started sorting things out. Mia had a photographic memory, so from past cleaning exploits with this desk, she knew how the objects were supposed to be aligned. She wiped the desk and arranged everything to perfection. After that, she moved on.

When their two hours were almost done, Mia gathered everybody and said she needs to share something. She took them all to the desk she had cleaned and said she wants to congratulate Ruth on the amazing job she did.

Mia went on and on congratulating Ruth and pointing out all the little things the latter had done right. Mia was so convincing and enthusiastic that the other women followed suit, all in turn congratulating the stunned Ruth.

Ruth was so confused by the entire episode that she almost started to believe she had done all she was being praised for, although, in all honesty, she was not 100% sure. What was for sure though, was that she liked what it felt like to do a great job.

Mia smiled and went on about her day, hoping that, if she is lucky enough, she will have many more early moments, days, when she can barely get out of bed, many more quiet, starry rides on Dublin bus through a city that keeps another secret, her secret.