clothes, class, and cleaning ladies: examining perceptions

other cleaning ladies might look like this...

The last few weeks since graduation, I've been working with my mama before my real work begins. Cleaning houses on the Main Line of Philadelphia, specifically. It's quite the experience in any manner of things (learning just how much dirt you can tolerate in someone else's home before you judge them, realizing their three-year-old uses more expensive shampoo than you do, coming up with a polite way to tell them you won't make the bed anymore if they continue to leave soiled panties in it), but lately, it's been wildly educational in terms of how others treat you within that community based on your appearance.

but I usually look like this (minus the shades. And money, of course)

 Clothing can signify a variety of things: mood, style, ethnicity, comfort with revealing skin, and most pertinent to this post, job/income. While my Mama wears polo shirts and old jeans, I wear ratty workout clothes (certainly not the pricey Lululemon yoga pants favored in those parts, more like worn-out, accidentally  bleached tee shirts and ill-fitting shorts) and we both generally smell of Lysol after a long day's work. It is clear that we are outsiders in this land of Lily Pulitzer and BMWs, and I'm generally fine with that. I labor, I make my money, I leave.

But, per usual, the Sheriff can't go anywhere without getting pissed about some sort of -ism.

While shopping in these uber-wealthy neighborhoods, our clothes clearly reveal our lower economic station and particular occupation. Costco, in particular, seems to bring out the rudeness and classism hidden in these folks. Costco is a weird place on the Main Line: despite the fact that it's whole premise is about buying in bulk to save money (like Sam's or BJ's), it's always packed and the customers are incredibly rude to each other, but especially towards us. Cutting people off with carts and jumping in line is par for the course, as is rudely demanding items and assistance from the staff. They have actually sneered at my mother and I (even more pronounced as I run to get the free samples of food), swaggering about in our dirty work clothes while they are crisply ironed and coiffed. We have even been approached in Costco TWICE by people looking for cleaning ladies (one woman indicated she wanted us specifically because we spoke English. Charming). It's that obvious that we don't belong, and the treatment given decidedly reveals that.

Talking to the poor folks who work at this particular location reveals that while at normal Costco locations, the customers are required to bring their coupons with them to get their discount, at this store, people put up such a fuss that they just automatically give everyone the discount to avoid a fight with a prick, trippin' on their own privilege. Costco is also the only place on the Main Line that I have ever seen Hispanic or black people...and they're all working there. They're also nice to Mama Sheriff and I. Is it because they know we also commute an hour to work in those gilded neighborhoods? Or is just because they have to be kind to make their hourly wage? I'll never know, but I appreciate it nonetheless while I'm in (what feels like) hostile territory.

Let it be said, however, that the vast majority of my Mama's actual clients are wonderful people: I have babysat their children, housesat for them, fed their horses, and she has been to their weddings and christenings. Which clearly indicates that once you know someone well enough, differences of economic stature and education don't have to be dividing lines. But at least out in public, with poorly dressed strangers, many people don't give that a chance to occur.

Have you ever been treated poorly because of your appearance? Or, have you ever judged someone and maybe treated them crappy based on theirs? Talk to me.

Much love,
The Sheriff