An old aunt having a 10-year-old niece fetch her another glass of Fanta is one thing. But, it boils my blood over to note how the affluent Nepalis bark orders at those on duty.
I admit it is part of the wait-staff, catering and kitchen crew’s duty to cater to its clients and customers, but it really can’t be their obligation to pick up after each this meticulously. The way people trash surroundings that they themselves are not directly responsible for and then complain about the dirt and noise is a joke. We, the ones being served, take them, the ones on duty, for granted.
But, taking wait-staff, busboys and others who have been less fortunate for granted is a given most anywhere. Such is the case because they have been denied their bargaining power. Perhaps we get treated like second-class citizens in our own country because most of us treat wait-staff in restaurants like we have learnt to treat our “servants” back at our houses.
Laborers deserve their bargaining power because no one is doing anyone a favor. The hosts paid for the service and the service is delivered for a fee, so it’s an even exchange. As such, both parties are equals. I get on the bus and the conductor collects the fee – (in an ideal world) I would have the right to voice my concern, as should he. But, how often do those “beneath us” get to express their lack in satisfaction? Just as we negotiate our salary at work, are our helpers able to request a raise or to claim they do not feel comfortable performing dangerous duties on our behalf?
For the most case, the answer is no. And, when we have successfully denied those fastened to the forsaken blue collar their bargaining power, it’s easy.
We attend parties, fling left over khashi on the ground or silently turn the other way when our friends do, because it’s okay (the cleaners will pick it up). That young couple clad in attire worthy of Republica’s Style section can eat their pani puri, chuck their plate in a box, miss it and look at me like I am weird for suggesting they pick it up, because it’s normal (the cleaners will pick it up). The mother at City Center can have her 2-year-old pee on the bathroom floor, and not lift her child onto the pot, then proceed to wash her hands and throw the napkin into the sink and clog it in the process because it’s okay (the cleaner will pick it up).
It might remind us patrons that we do indeed have hands with which to pick up the trash we created and legs to carry it over to a bin where it belongs.
We can be this thoughtless and we can be this selfish, because we live in a country
where the gulf between the haves and have-nots is so carefully maintained. It only seems natural given the way we grew up with servants waiting on us hand and foot that this culture of service and servant-hood extend beyond our houses and right into, well, our world. Sometimes I wonder if maybe some of us are stuck in the feudal eras of illegal days thankfully gone by and still string along our personal slaves or if our feet squeezed into Bentley’s most recent shipment of fancy and “genuine” Italian leather are indeed paralyzed.
Is it really beyond our ability to collect our trash and dump it in the bin just oh-so-conveniently located right at the exit door? Or is picking up each kernel of carelessly dumped popcorn the duty of the poor cleaning crew clad in green? Sometimes I think it would be a wake-up call to some of Nepal’s most fortunate citizens (insofar as a mere sliver of the population is able to cough up Rs 300 for a movie at Jai Nepal Cinema) if the cleaning crew simply did the bare minimum. It might remind us patrons that we do indeed have hands with which to pick up the trash we created and legs to carry it over to a bin where it belongs. But, I imagine a good few of us would be outraged that for our Rs 300, JNC failed to deliver cleanliness. Only I was under the assumption I was paying for the movie, not for my ass to be wiped.
We have all assumed our roles, but none of it has to be fixed, we are indeed not superior and nor are they our servants.
And yet the tragic part of my exasperations is that such workers have become used to our lazy over-serviced souls. And their employers have probably sketched waiting on us hand and foot as part of their job description. So, maybe there is no problem, except wouldn’t it offend us if a guest came and threw their chicken bones on the floor of our dining room or stubbed their cigarette on our sofa? How then can it be different for men and women who watch us trash the carefully manicured lawn in front of their eyes when a bin is positioned at every 2 meters, and yet have to keep quiet because should they request we pick it they may get reprimanded? It’s a matter of decency to respect each other’s profession(s) and undervaluing what is usually and falsely perceived as “unskilled” labor of another a shame.
At one recent party, a young woman who I presume was part of the cleaning crew asked why we troubled ourselves because it was her duty to clean up. I asked her if she was going to pick up every bone dumped on the floor and she seemed surprised I even asked.
How can we, those donned in Durbar Marg’s trendiest outfits, with our private school education and endless opportunities permit respectable earnest working individuals to perceive themselves as something less? Did our money, education and exposure teach us nothing except to reassure us of our empty superiority?
Writer wants to thank her mom for teaching her ‘thank you-s’ and ‘please-s’ and her dad for always being courteous to those “on duty”
sradda.thapa@gmail.com
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