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Dear The Maid,

Dear The Maid,

Sorry I don’t know your name, but I’m sorta busy. We don’t all get to just spend our days goofing off in other peoples’ houses, you know.

Anyway, I’m sure you’re a great person and all, but can you please cut it out with that vacuum bullshit? It’s bad enough that I have to delay my nap for four hours to make sure you don’t steal anything, but now I’ve gotta listen to this racket??

I’m trying to get my picks in for my NFL pool!

I mean, Christ, this is ridiculous. Heard of a broom? Does the same job. No noise.

Problem solved.

I mean, how long does it take to clean a one bedroom luxury apartment? Seriously, I’m asking, I’ve never done it. It can’t take more than 20 or 30 minutes. So what the hell are you doing here the rest of the time?

‘Casing the joint’ so your ‘gang’ can come back later and rob me?

Pretending it’s your house and you’re rich like me?

I think the real answer is that you’re taking an extra long time so that I’ll feel guilty that you’re doing all this hard work for your 37 dollars (35 dollar flat rate plus tip).

So in summation, The Maid, I hope you think about how you’re ripping me off, forcing me to listen to that god-awful vacuum of yours and preventing me from getting my shit done so I can take a well-deserved, mid-afternoon nap.

I’m sleepy!

Sincerely, Steven Spielberg (no relation)