Every single one of us has crazy crap happen to us when it is least expected. Well, when cleaning seems like you are always on the frontline of something crazy happening.

These are a collaboration of stories from myself, other housecleaners, and things I have heard about along the way. Hope you enjoy it.

I was cleaning on a grow out in the countryside about 45 miles away from Pueblo near the foothills. I had seen llamas, owls, and deer out there - that was definitely something I was used to in Colorado. But one day, I finished cleaning and took my gear out to my van to leave. I heard a hissing, and "rww'ing" coming from under my van.

As I went to bend down in human nature to see what it was thinking it was a stray barn cat. Rocks shot out from underneath my van toward my face. Ouch!

No damn domestic cat I ever encountered had the strength to fling as hard as those rocks moved. I ran up to the porch, and leaned over

I called the owner and he came down to help me, I had thought about making a mad dash to get in the van and just drive off. But every time I went toward it the damn car hissed and flung rocks. Didn't seem safe. Plus, I had to get out of there I had an appointment at 2 pm at another client's house to get through.

He showed up, went into his house, and came out with this old dusty rifle that hung behind the door. Seemingly annoyed his receptionist and I were freaked out and acting like total girls about it all. He got down on his belly and was sighting in on the bobcat and I said, "just don't hit the gas tank, or we all die".

"You know what, it's your van, you do it", as he shoved his rifle into my arms across my chest. Chicken shit. I sat the gun down on the porch and grabbed a handful of the driveway gravel and threw it back at it to scare it off. Rawr! Rawr!

I mean I wasn't going to blow my shit up either. C'mon.

The receptionist and I bent down to grab more handfuls of rocks and threw them. The cat started to bolt out by the front tire and the next thing I heard was 'BOOM' and saw the cat fall to its side about a foot in front of my van.

Moved for a few moments and just stopped breathing. We approached cautiously and it was dead. The teeth on that thing were scary, the nails even worse.

After calling the wildlife rangers, waiting, and having to reschedule my appointment for the oddest reason, she didn't even believe me at first.

We weren't allowed to even touch it or keep a tooth, claw, or anything from the experience. But that was intense, to say the least. I didn't work for him much longer after that. Wasn't impressed.

As if cleaning isn't hard enough. Add asinine requests and a person who makes you wish you could just fall off the ladder rather than have to finish their cleaning. I was called by a new couple to a nicer area in town. So I bit at it thinking it was easy money.

When I got there I meet an older man who seemed quite polite and hard-working himself. A beautiful spacious home. She wasn't around.

We went through the usual, and he said he'd love me to come and clean. We agreed on a day and I was to come back prepared for a full house clean.

When I arrived at our scheduled appointment, it took forever to answer the door. I almost assumed it was a blow and I'd be off for the day.

Nope.

A woman answers, seemingly disheveled but in great spirits and smiling. She comes off as the artist type. You know has ADHD, and is completely ambivalently extra busy for no reason at all other than to just keep going.

"Hi, I'm Allie. I'm here to clean for you", I said politely.

"I've NEVER had a cleaner. I don't know you and I don't trust you. And my husband hired you. Not me, ok?", she blurted out.

"Yes ma'am, I understand", I replied.

After I got to the living room, she had about 500,000 Kachina dolls to move and dust around. I made my way through them and was going into the second living room.

She stops me and says, "did you move everything in the living room?".

"Yes ma'am, I did", I said.

"You didn't have enough time to do all that", she revolted toward me.

Her entire demeanor changed. Like the Poltergeist, yes exactly like that.

"Ma'am, I assure you. Please go and look. I am thorough as well as fast. I've been doing this awhile" I replied.

"You're a liar", she was almost yelling at me by this point. I am almost in utter shock. And what the hell?

"I'm going to check cameras right now. If you are lying, I want you out of my house immediately", she said storming off to check her cameras.

I knew I did it the right way so I continued in the second living room and kept on cleaning. By the time she came back, I was three rooms over.

She said nothing. No apology. Nothing.

How disrespectful?!

I could've stolen the entire time she was checking her cameras for my work. Rather than say she was sorry and I did a good job. Nothing?

I made my way to the basement. Which was full carpeted. I always do this lined pattern so you can see it was freshly vacuumed. Similar to how upper-class hotels leave their carpeted floors with a reassuring pattern.

She came down just as I was winding the vacuum and said, "you didn't vacuum all the rooms".

She didn't even go in them physically and even check prior to saying that to me. Callous, rude, b...

I was just done. Nope. No, thank you.

I finished that clean, wasn't too excited to reschedule but did. When I returned two weeks later she was so nice to me, at first. Made cookies, and even smoked a cigarette with me on a break I normally wouldn't take because the job was only three hours long. She was kind of cool. But flip-flopped on her attitude, a lot.

One minute happy she loves vanilla, the next she is upset because the dog already got hair on the clean chair covers. As well as the plastic floor protector, under the living room chill chair.

I knew all of the marbles weren't in the jar. But not for me to judge. Just scrub away. Dust, dust, and mop. Go. Go.

I finished the bathroom in her master suite and I was packing up to leave. She handed me a check short, $20.00!

"Ma'am, it's $135.00 for biweekly services at 3,800 Sq. Ft. with pets as agreed in our contract. This check is $110.00", I said firmly.

"I know, you didn't dust properly last time you were here", she was very catty and pretentious when she said that to me.

I wanted to yell. I didn't. I left, politely. And never went back. Ever.

A bit later down life's road her husband and I bumped into each other at the supermarket. He asked why he couldn't keep a housecleaner to save his life.

I didn't want to be the one to say it, but I did. He explained to me that she was schizophrenic and didn't have much control over herself. Which I assumed.

I just left it there.

And never went back.

I took a client call from a woman. She was pushy and demeaning as if she were surprised I wasn't Hispanic and cleaning. Judgmental. I wasn't thrilled to say the least.

She mentioned Dr.'s office, and home as well as an apartment clean. To me, I heard, cha-ching. Can't be that hard.

I met at the clinic, it was astounding clean. Admittedly a bit out of my league but I was willing if they had the proper chemicals and tools.

She wasn't too thrilled with that. But I'd rather not have lied and taken an ass-chewing later. So I choose my battle.

Once I saw their house it was a sprawling 4,500 Sq. Ft. mini-mansion. Definitely a six-hour job for me alone. Full of knick-knacks, cupids, etc.

She was amazing. And helpful. The wife was cleaning the counters and I kept telling her no, I'll do it but she insisted. She was one of those humans that just gave a damn about others.

I got a call from the receptionist lady of the Doctor, she distinctly told me that the Mrs. was NOT to know about this next address. Ever.

I would be terminated immediately.

Ok.

I went to an address close to our downtown. There was a bed, a couch, toiletries, and not much else of human belonging or personal existence here.

Weird. Oh shit.

This is the Doctors version of Fifty Shades of Gray. Ewe.

Six pairs of new sheets were in the closet. The cabinets had "man food" in them after inspection. There were female douches under the sink. And condoms on the side table just sitting out. Water in the fridge and booze.

This is a bachelor pad. Wait. This is a fuck pad for a married man. Gross.

This guy was an asshole.

Nope.

I wasn't going to 'aid an abet' this guy to hurt a woman, he chose to marry.

Not my issue.

So wait, I'm supposed to clean this place and know of its existence and never mention it to her and the only reason it exists would crush her? Wrong.

Bad karma.

I took a job for a handicapped veteran who was a younger guy on the far side of town. I'd been going for a few months every week. Things were great. His wife was a teacher and they traveled a lot so aside from the four dogs it was a great job to have.

It seemed prior to Covid entire towns got sick with colds and she was home on my scheduled arrival so she asked me to clean anyway if I was willing.

I went to my van and got my things.

"Who's van is that may I ask?", she said with an odd attitude about her.

"My fiancée, I use it for work. It has so much space for mops, vacuums, etc", I replied.

To this day I wish she never would've said a word. But am grateful she did. In ways.

"Is he a ....., and his name is ....", she asked.

"Look you seem like a great girl, hardworking and sweet as well as respectful."

She sighed before continuing.

"I have two choices right now. Say something for not. I want to say, you're a great cleaner, and don't want to lose you. But, .... I knew your man. We, well... yeah".

"When?", I asked.

Even though it was right before my time. She showed me emails and correspondence that was very close to resembling my own with him.

That caused some serious damage to my relationship. I out of pride continued helping her family. We attempted a friendship but that foundation was made from viscous mud.

There's a simple reason I say cleaning is a shitty job. Because it always involves poop, one way or another.

Getting a call asking if I can come over immediately and help was not foreign, in fact, was about monthly. These ranged in severity but I always ended up taking my rubber boots with me.

I have elderly clients and they can end up in some of the most precarious situations at times. Seriously.

So I arrive and I've known her for years, I'm familiar with the family.

There is poop.

You can smell it. You can see a streak from the seat of her Lazyboy to the floor, across the living room hardwood, to the stairs, and up the carpeted stairs. Yes.

On to the hallway hardwood following the stairs was the streak into the bathroom and all over the toilet that was repainted, unwillingly.

It took me a moment to take in what exactly had happened here.

She tracked her walker, and oxygen cord (which provided her essential livelihood), through her feces trail. Repeatedly. For six days, she had tracked this around her house, even dried poo particles are deadly.

Everything had to be cleaned top to bottom, in bleach. Including her oxygen line, which I soaked and cleaned thoroughly. I had to shop vac the entire house and disinfect anything anyone would touch, the fans.. poo particles are disgusting and a serious biohazard.

It was hell.

As much as I adored her and wanted to be close to her, I couldn't do that again. For $90.00. I didn't say much. I politely made my leave and ghosted.

It wasn't my place to hurt her feelings.

But it wasn't my place to subject myself to the hundreds of bacteria, parasites, E.coli, or various amounts of toxins I endured while returning her home to the standards of the Department of Human Services elderly protocol.

I got a call for a property on top of the tabletop plateau in my neck of the woods. I was curious about the property alone so I agreed to meet with the family.

As I was driving up this seemingly desolate country road I saw a sign expressing firmly no trespassing and a few hundred feet down another. But saying "". Ok, well they asked me to come.

I came up to an electric gate with a button post and speaker to talk to. The sign read, '

I hit the button.

Nothing. Hit it again. Nope, nothing.

Ok.

I went to get in my truck and leave and behind me, a truck came flying up on my bumper. I pulled over away from the entrance and started to get out of my door.

", he yelled at me.

"You called me here, to clean", I said.

"Oh, why didn't you say so? Follow me up to the house", he said calmly and like nothing had happened to make me need new underwear.

Was an awesome family. Never wanted to figure out their secret. Did my dues and let them find a more permanent cleaner who wanted the thirty-mile drive in and out of their property.

I went to an arranged bid I had scheduled earlier in the week for a woman who needed her house cleaned biweekly. Seemed easy enough a 950 Sq. Ft. home deep clean to start and regular residential services thereafter.

When she was walking me through the home we came to a spare room off of the main hallway.

"Don't be shocked", she says casually, as she opens the door.

"Nothing shocks me anymore. I've been doing this for eight years now." I said it and meant it.

Boy, was I wrong!

That room was a den fit for Satan's wife to release her cruelty upon mankind. Literally.

There were restraints hanging from the ceiling, a torture chair, whips displayed all over the walls, and tools as well as devices I could only describe if I had a catalog to see their descriptions. I bet I'd still blush too.

This was the room 90% of men have nightmares about. Chains, black leather, candles everywhere. I'm pretty sure but if I kept looking I'm sure I'd have found a jar full of "pickles".

This room was right out of a scene from Las Vegas, Nevada's leading dominatrix whorehouse.

"Oh, my", was what came out of my mouth. I tried not to judge, but what the hell?

She ended up with another cleaner in town. What I found hilarious was who she choose. The woman she chose goes to church every Thursday and Sunday and is a well-known cleaner in town. As well as the pillar of Christianity in our community.

I wonder if she put a lock on the door and never allowed anyone but clients in after that. Or, if the church lady has the same secrets she is hiding at home? ...

Curious.

Took a move-out clean, sight unseen, realtor requested and paid for in advance. No choice, the job had to be done and the right way. I had my sons that Summer in tow and figured we'd be in and out of there in no time together. Last minute my youngest decides not to go with us.

My oldest and I walked into a duplex that was ranch-style with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an island counter in the kitchen. About 1,100 Sq. Ft., pretty standard issue move-out clean.

Although, this house had a feeling that you couldn't shake while there. Like when your parents fought growing up and you didn't want to leave your room scary. We were both on our toes and both frustrated. Nothing was working right. Running out of cleaners. No scouring pads. Etc.

The outlets to far to reach to finish a task, and the mop water spilled making a huge mess. Both my son and I were unusually affected and annoyed within an hour of cleaning this place. We normally are not quick to react or snap at each other but that day, we were at each other's throats. The house was full of anger and despair that you could feel.

I turned to ask him to hand me the furniture polish for the baseboards and all of a sudden the door between us separating the rooms just slammed shut. Hard. Neither he nor I were close enough to touch the door. No one else was there with us.

We were freaked out. Stared at each other and decided to hurry the hell up and get out of there.

I didn't believe in the ghost BS I saw on T.V., and nothing ever happened to convince me differently. Until this day.

We had the kitchen, coat closet, and foyer at the front door to finish and we were done.

As I wiped the island down, I turned to do the counters. When I turned back there was a palm print on the island counter, dry. The rest of the counter was wet with my rags wipe.

"Son, don't touch. I want to get out of here", I said to him.

"I didn't mom", he looked at me and said.

I wiped that side of the counter again and went to load up my gear. The dry handprint was back.

"SON!!", I yelled. He came into the kitchen by the refrigerator. He didn't have the time to do that and meander out the front door.

I took the rag out of my pack and wiped it a third time, this time as I wiped I could see it in a different spot on the right side of the counter, right next to me.

Nope. No, thank you. I grabbed my stuff, locked the door, and left. Never have I cleaned on that street again.

I have a lot of elderly clients. I have also attended CPR training and try to keep my card up to date in case anyone ever needs assistance. Never thought I'd have to use it, but I have. Twice.

At work. And twice personally. So, useful - yes!

I showed up and she just didn't seem like her normal vibrant self, she looked gray and was sitting in her chair with a solemn look on her face.

I'd been cleaning for about 30 minutes and noticed she was slumped in her chair. She never said anything weird and did not do anything, or move. She just slumped over like a limp teddy bear.

"Are you ok?", I asked. She just mumbled and was acting strange. I told her to hold on I was calling 911. The operator asks me to feel her pulse and start chest compressions on her.

I felt horrible and hate to admit this, but when I moved her to the ground her body thudded off of the chair onto the floor. It had to of hurt. I didn't mean it, and freaked out is a mild term here.

Have you ever had to give chest compressions to someone? Looks easy. It's not. It is absolutely exhausting. First three minutes you're a hero, you got this. After that, your arms feel like that stretchable Hulk toy with the incredibly bendy arms from the 80s.

By the time the ambulance got there, my jelly arms and brain were shot.

She had a stroke, but she did recover and returned home. I cleaned for her for two more years. But after a while, she needed full-time care in a home with nurses. I did her move-out clean and prepped the home for the renters the family had chosen.

Again, another long-time client clean I showed up for at my regularly scheduled time.

When he answered he seemed the same, but this one happened before I met her family.