I was about to quit school and start my first real job. Mama wanted me to stay on and go to ninth grade shed always wanted to be a schoolteacher instead of working in Miss Woodras house. But with my sisters heart problem and my no-good drunk daddy, it was up to me and Mama. I already knew about housework. After school, I did most of the cooking and the cleaning. But if I was going off to work in somebody elses house, whod be looking after ours?
Mama turned me by the shoulders so Id look at her instead of the cake. Mama was a crack-whip. She was proper. She took nothing from nobody. She shook her finger so close to my face, it made me cross-eyed.
Rule Number One for working for a white lady, Minny: it is nobodys business. You keep your nose out of your White Ladys problems, you dont go crying to her with yours you cant pay the light bill? Your feet are too sore? Remember one thing: white people are not your friends. They dont want to hear about it. And when Miss White Lady catches her man with the lady next door, you keep out of it, you hear me?
Rule Number Two: dont you ever let that White Lady find you sitting on her toilet. I dont care if youve got to go so bad its coming out of your hairbraids. If theres not one out back for the help, you find yourself a time when shes not there in a bathroom she doesnt use.
Rule Number Three Mama jerked my chin back around to face her because that cake had lured me in again. Rule Number Three: when youre cooking white peoples food, you taste it with a different spoon. You put that spoon to your mouth, think nobodys looking, put it back in the pot, might as well throw it out.
Rule Number Four: you use the same cup, same fork, same plate every day. Keep it in a separate cupboard and tell that white woman thats the one youll use from here on out.
Rule Number Five: you eat in the kitchen.
Rule Number Six: you dont hit on her children. White people like to do their own spanking.
Rule Number Seven: this is the last one, Minny. Are you listening to me? No sass-mouthing.[30]
Mama, I know how
Oh, I hear you when you think I cant, muttering about having to clean the stovepipe, about the last little piece of chicken left for poor Minny. You sass a white woman in the morning, youll be sassing out on the street in the afternoon.
I saw the way my mama acted when Miss Woodra brought her home, all Yes Maaming, No Maaming, I sure do thank you Maaming. Why I got to be like that? I know how to stand up to people.
Now come here and give your mama a hug on your birthday Lord, you are heavy as a house, Minny.
I aint eaten all day, when can I have my cake?
Dont say aint, you speak properly now. I didnt raise you to talk like a mule.
First day at my White Ladys house, I ate my ham sandwich in the kitchen, put my plate up in my spot in the cupboard. When that little brat stole my pocketbook and hid it in the oven, I didnt whoop her on the behind.
But when the White Lady said: Now I want you to be sure and handwash all the clothes first, then put them in the electric machine to finish up.
I said: Why I got to handwash when the power washer gone do the job? Thats the biggest waste a time I ever heard of.
That White Lady smiled at me, and five minutes later, I was out on the street.
Working for Miss Celia, Ill get to see my kids off to Spann Elementary in the morning and still get home in the evening with time to myself. I havent had a nap since Kindra was born in 1957, but with these hours eight to three I could have one every day if that was my idea of a fine time. Since no bus goes all the way out to Miss Celias, I have to take Leroys car.
You aint taking my car every day, woman, what if I get the day shift and need to
She paying me seventy dollars cash every Friday, Leroy.
Maybe I take Sugars bike.
On Tuesday, the day after the interview, I park the car down the street from Miss Celias house, around a curve so you cant see it. I walk fast on the empty road and up the drive. No other cars come by.
Im here, Miss Celia. I stick my head in her bedroom that first morning and there she is, propped up on the covers with her makeup perfect and her tight Friday-night clothes on even though its Tuesday, reading the trash in the Hollywood Digest like its the Holy B[31].
Good morning, Minny! Its real good to see you, she says, and I bristle, hearing a white lady being so friendly.
I look around the bedroom, sizing up the job. Its big, with cream-colored carpet, a yellow king canopy bed, two fat yellow chairs. And its neat, with no clothes on the floor. The spreads made up underneath her. The blanket on the chairs folded nice. But I watch, I look. I can feel it. Somethings wrong.
When can we get to our first cooking lesson? she asks. Can we start today?
I reckon in a few days, after you go to the store and pick up what we need.
She thinks about this a second, says, Maybe you ought to go, Minny, since you know what to buy and all.
I look at her. Most white women like to do their own shopping. Alright, I go in the morning, then.
I spot a small pink shag rug shes put on top of the carpet next to the bathroom door. Kind of catty-cornered. Im no decorator, but I know a pink rug doesnt match a yellow room.