A Diary Of A Professional London Cleaner

“What do you want to become when you grow up?” I bet you all the money in your pocket that no child has ever said that they wanted to be a cleaner. A ship captain, an explorer, a footballer, a race driver – but nobody wants to be a cleaner.

I was not an exception to the rule. Since very early in my school years, I realised that I am good with words, especially when it came to writing. In my youth, I even turned it into an advantage, writing the essays and homework of more than a few of my classmates. It came to no surprise, then, that I chose a liberal arts field in university, and graduated with honours four years later.

The job market in my small Eastern European country, however, did not agree with my assessment of what was important and interesting to do in life. I had a tough choice to make, but then a friend of mine suggested an option I had never considered – a total change of scenery, turning my world upside down, and starting fresh.

No, I did not go to a Buddhist temple in Nepal or start a career in the Peruvian Andes as a lama shepherd – though, at one point, I considered both options. Instead, I bought myself a plane ticket to London, having an appointment with the owner of a cleaning company there. Why a cleaning company, you would ask? Because I did not have much of a choice, and it would be rude to disregard the helping hand my friend was offering.

Before I go on with my story, let me make something perfectly clear – I had no experience or knowledge of cleaning beyond the fortnightly organising of my indescribably messy room. I was not particularly fond of the idea and only regarded it as a temporary job until I find something better – both in terms of payment and activity. Still, I was willing to give it a shot and was dead-set on not admitting defeat unless I got extradited from the country.

So my meeting with my future boss and would-be cleaning mentor (he would die laughing if he ever heard that description of himself) came and in I went into his office, not knowing what to expect. Whatever it was I did not expect, the meeting still took me by surprise. I had prepared for a stiff old cranky cleaning sage and got a laughing, funny wise guy instead. He won me for the job in two minutes – being a natural salesman, he could describe even the most detestable occupation in rosy colours. Believe it or not, I came out of the office inspired – not that I had found a new vocation in life or anything of that sort, but that the gig would not be as bad as I had expected.

I started slowly, helping bigger crews with menial tasks that required more muscle than skill. But there was so much information available, so many courses and training programs that it would be criminal not to take advantage of at least a couple of them. Within a few months, I started doing what I do best – mopping up information. I read housewife blogs and professional journals, guidelines, top-tier expert testimonials, and specialised advice. Soon I could argue on par with some of the most experienced cleaners on the staff, and my progress did not go unnoticed.

One day my boss asked me to come to his office. “Oops”, I thought, “this is where showing off gets you, wise guy!” He asked me a few testing questions and then dropped the hammer. “I received an email from the NCCA (National Carpet Cleaners Association), informing me that their annual training program is starting within a couple of weeks. It’s a tough bite, I warn you. You don’t have to pay anything, but you will have to fit it into your working timetable. The course lasts for four weeks, 20 hours per week. Are you up to the challenge?”

The clock wheels were already rolling in my head. I worked anywhere between 35 and 45 hours per week, depending on the bookings, and needed an additional ten hours for transportation. If I had to add 20 hours for the course, it would be anywhere between 65 and 75 hours of grueling grind for the next month. You have to understand something, however. Imagine that you play tennis, and then Andy Murray offers you a free 4-week training course – would you decline because it messed up your schedule? And if I passed the course successfully, I knew I had a shot at joining one of the best carpet cleaning teams in London.

In retrospect, these might have been the toughest four weeks of my life from a physical point of view. To an extent, however, they were also the most rewarding. Even though I had worked for more than six months as a cleaner, my outlook was still fundamentally amateurish. The NCCA course was utterly professional, almost academic in substance. Every day I was learning new stuff and understanding basic concepts of fibre treatment, the combination of steam injection and detergent application, getting in touch with the latest trends in the craft. I felt like I was getting a Master’s degree in carpet cleaning compressed in four weeks.

Once the course was over, and I got my certificate, I took a couple of days off to decompress. The next Monday, I walked into my boss’s office. I would never forget the 30-second conversation he had. He reclined back in his office chair and looked at me with a wry smile on his face. I smiled back. Then he said: “You know there is no coming back now, don’t you? You are a carpet cleaner for good.” I nodded silently. He clicked a couple of times on his Macbook and turned back to me: “There is an urgent appointment in Hampstead Heath for a large-scale house with multiple carpets and rugs. Grab a gear set and go hunting for stains!”

I have been a top-tier carpet cleaner ever since, eight years and running.