A few years back, I reached by 40th birthday and that
caused a real reappraisal of my life. My job was
somewhat satisfying, but I realized that if I wanted
true happiness, I had to follow my dreams, not just
make enough money to get by as a corporate drone.

Since I was a child, my dream had been a hotel maid.
Cleaning toilets, discarding used condoms, restocking
the minibar, scrubbing bath tubs, vacuuming carpets, those
were the component's of young Pete's dreams. Not to
mention the perks: Unlimited miniature shampoo bottles,
cakes of bath soap and in the better places, all the
mouthwash you could drink. And the POWER!!
Tapping at people's doors with my skeleton key at 6:45 a.m.,
singing out "maid service." Ah, could it get better than that?

Impulsively, I quit my drone job and entered a highly
competitive postgraduate program specializing in public
domestic engineering. The coursework was grueling and
my family suffered the total lack of income. We moved into
our car after we lost the house and started "car-schooling"
the kids to save on frills like "lunch money."

Finally, after three years of pain and sacrifice, the
big day arrived. I received my summa cum laude masters
degree and set off for my first interview for that dreamed-of career.

I kept my expectations modest. I was, after all, still
a green rookie at the maid business. I asked for a modest
salary of $85,000 with a six-month review, stock participation,
the usual premium healthcare plan, a small signing bonus of $20,000,
and a few other trifles, such as a company Mercedes and of course
a corporate credit card and liberal travel-and-entertainment budget.

I wasn't sure I would get all of that, but I was willing to make a
few small compromises to break into the industry.

Well, you would not BELIEVE what happened at my first interview.
It was at Marriott, the nation's host and until then, my ideal of the
hospitality industry. I showed up right on time, in my frilliest costume,
complete with duster and one of those cute little caps.

I won't bore you with the humiliation of the next hour, but let us just cut
to the chase. After calling all of her colleagues in, presumably to marvel
over my immaculate resume, Ms. Shenk, the interviewer, broke into
unstifled laughter. As my resume made the rounds, the other 20 people
she had assembled soon were making sounds of jocularity as well.
Mistakenly thinking this was a good sign of bonding and fellowship,
I joined in the general hilarity.

It soon tailed off, and Ms. Shenk addressed me directly.
"What are you, a fucking moron?" she inquired.

"We can hire wetbacks at $2 an hour, make 'em do 40 rooms in 6 hours,
and they THANK us for the job. Get the fuck out of here."

Shocked, I retired to the local library to research the term "wetback."
It means, evidently, those of Mexican descent who presumably swam
across the Rio Grande to enter the United States illegally. They were
so new to our country, evidently, their backs were still wet.

Mexicans!!! Mexicans taking away highly skilled, highly paid jobs
from the most educated, motivated workforce in the world!!!
And these are the people YOU LIBERALS want to allow into the country untramelled???

And you wonder why we vote Republican.
Go back to Russia, you commies.