being the help for the wealthy

I’ve found myself in Pacific Palisades often over the past few weeks. These visits have been the first time in almost eight years that I have ventured to that part of the city. In part because I’ve had no real reason to be there, but perhaps also in part because I’ve avoided it. Yesterday I was driving east on Sunset to get to a park to meet up with a group of other moms and their kids, and my body had a subtly physical reaction to driving the road. A sense of familiarity … and dread. I was just close enough to a house I lived in when I first moved to Los Angeles, and my brain and my heart didn’t know what to do about it. I felt my stomach tighten ever so slightly and my pulse raised a few beats. I felt tension in my limbs. After a few moments I turned off Sunset to a familiar road to the park and my body lightened up. It’s curious how past experiences can set you off, in small and large ways. So here’s a story:

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I moved to Los Angeles a few months after Jeremy did, back in 2011. We were dating and I decided to take the plunge to live closer to him. I spent the first month in the city hurriedly job searching, and couch surfing until I could confirm a source of income. Primarily looking for nannying jobs, I got an interview with a family and my contact was some woman who lived in a different state and worked for the family remotely.

Jeremy drove me to my interview. We drove to the Palisades and as I was unfamiliar with any part of LA, it wasn’t until we actually got there that I realized we were in one of the very affluent parts of the city. The house we arrived at had a large privacy wall around the perimeter and big gates that only opened once I called the house and the housekeeper buzzed me in. It was a big house, clearly worth a lot of money, and I later learned it was the former house of a specific celebrity. (Keeping details vague on here to avoid potential smearing.) 

I don’t remember much of the interview aside from the fact that I saw a different side to my future employer that I rarely saw again. Loving and kind, tender with one of her kids who crawled into her lap while we were chatting, laying out what my job would be. She brought up our shared Christian faith which felt comforting to me. The kids went to a private Christian school on the other side of town.

I moved in shortly after, to a very small room at the back of the house that didn’t have an entrance from the inside, so it was private. I slept on what I later realized to be a broken bed, next to a nightstand with an intercom phone and a desk. There was a microwave and a built in chest of drawers, and a nice bathroom with a nice shower stall. My new home.

The phone was a funny thing to me at first, and maybe still is, though it also became a nuisance. The house was “so big” (it was but it really wasn’t) that the family all communicated with each other over the intercom. Every single room in the house had one, and every single phone voiced the intercom messages at all hours of the day. Including my phone, in my private room, on my days off, in the early hours of the morning.

I worked 5 days a week and didn’t ask for enough compensation. Five elementary school aged kids. I worked alongside the mom and dad and we shared pick up and drop off responsibilities. School, sports, friends, so many extra-curriculars. The tutor quit shortly after I was hired, shared her phone number with me, and texted me later giving me some details about how the job wasn’t worth it. Instead of hiring a new tutor, her responsibilities fell to me. I helped with homework and school projects. I befriended the kids the best I could and tried to form an older sister type of relationship with them. I became friends with the two full-time housekeepers and the full-time groundskeeper/gardener. My brand new “I’m moving to Los Angeles” car stayed parked in a spot at the bottom of the long driveway, and I was only allowed to transport the kids in a Chrysler minivan, an old Acura SUV with a broken seat, or occasionally the grandmother’s Lexus sedan, if she was there too. The claim was my car wasn’t safe enough, but the irony was that the Acura I drove the most was in hindsight very dangerous because I could barely reach the pedals since the driver’s seat was broken. 

The almost centenarian grandmother made me cry one of my first days of work. She wanted me to run some errands and was insistent she gave me directions to get to the store. I politely stood there while she told me where to go (me knowing I would google it before I left). Her first direction was “head in to town,” to which I tried to interject “which way is town- right or left out of the driveway?” She quickly chastised “Don’t interrupt me young lady,” and continued her directions that I didn’t pay attention to, as my brain shut down. When she was done, I went straight to my room to google directions while holding back tears. That conversation wasn’t inherently unkind, just very unexpected.

I had issues with one of the children who didn’t want to listen to anything I asked him to do. He decided he had no respect for me and that was that. I approached his mom about it at one point, flabbergasted and entirely unsure of what to do; especially as my job was to get him to do things like finish his homework or go to bed on time and I was the one who got in trouble if these things were not attained in the manner they were supposed to be. The result of my conversation with the mother was that she chatted about it with her son, and they jointly decided he didn’t have to listen to me. Sweet.

One of the kids boasted to me that he had a bank account with an entire college fund because when he broke his finger years before, the doctor messed up when fixing it and so the mom sued the doctor.

The kids were all supposed to contribute to a quilt for their school. There was a different theme for each grade and they all came home with ziplock bags full of supplies. I was handed all five ziplock bags by the mother (who always talked to me with a huge smile on her face, regardless of the tone of conversation), and she asked me to make the quilt squares for the kids. Oh, okay. This girl = can sew a straight line, but not crafty. I spent so much of my unpaid time coming up with ideas, ironing, sewing, and felt-tip markering those squares and got them handed in on time. The housekeeper was given another square that belonged to a different family to give to her sister to complete. Apparently her sister was a seamstress. I received a passive-aggressive email from the mom few days later with a picture of a beautifully completed quilt square that looked professionally done with the words “Did the kid’s squares look like this?” Yeah, never replied to that email. I guess they should have done better outsourcing. For the project the kids were supposed to complete.

I was always getting mixed messages and poor communication about what my job actually was, and then getting talked to about not doing things correctly- when they were never explained to me in the first place. My favorite days were the ones where I didn’t actually have to worry about the kids, but rather this that and the other errand needed running. I would go to the post office, the food store, the vet (they had so many pets, some better cared for than others). My name was on their credit card and I was allowed to use it at will for myself, within reason, and I would treat myself to a cupcake in town or eat lunch out. I used it a bit more once I realized I had charged them a Kentucky salary rather than a Los Angeles salary.

I went trick-or-treating with three of the kids while the parents took the other two elsewhere. I took them to a friend’s house where all of the uppity parents were dressed in full costume. I was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and had never felt so out of place. We walked through a neighborhood where every house gave king sized candy bars. I thought that only happened in the movies. The kids were allowed to eat as much candy as they wanted that night, and the rest of it was donated to the troops the next day. For weeks I found hidden candy and wrappers in their nightstands.

About six weeks in to my job, they found a “GREAT SCHOOL!” … on the OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY. The kids just HAD to be enrolled, education was of UTMOST IMPORTANCE. The dad chatted with me about it, they were moving in a week, and would I consider going with them?

Not to worry that I had only just moved to Los Angeles from the east coast to be closer to my boyfriend.

In that week, the housekeepers were told to make plans to find somewhere else to work. They both had connections and no issues figuring out what to do. One was actually asked to move with them, but she wasn’t necessarily in the states legally, so she stayed put. The groundskeeper, father of a few kids, wasn’t talked to. The four of us “help” had whispered conversations about what he was supposed to do. This was his full-time job. His salary and cell phone relied solely on this job. The day the family left, I found one of the housekeepers crying in the pantry. The groundskeeper, our friend, was unceremoniously let go that day. No notice, his services just “weren’t needed any more.” I drove one of the cars later that day, after the dad had used it, and saw the groundskeeper’s (former) cell phone just sitting in the center console like it was nothing. He had to go home to his family that day, a few weeks before Christmas, unemployed, without warning.

I went to the east coast with them, I didn’t have much of a choice. Jeremy was invited to come with us for a time, and they paid for both of our plane tickets. We stayed in one of their houses that was about an hour’s drive from their new house near the “GREAT SCHOOL!” It was much larger than the Los Angeles house and the beach was about a mile away. I was given the guest room on the second floor, a far cry from my LA lodging. I had a California-King bed, and walk in closet the size of my room in LA, a bathroom with two vanities, a deep round hot tub bath, and a large glass-walled walk-in shower. There was a balcony overlooking the canals they lived on.

I drove an hour or more each way to get to work, and quickly found that my childcare job turned in to a “help them move” job. Jeremy was there “on vacation,” but got roped in to most of the work I had to do. Unpacking everyone. Seriously I was organizing the dad’s golf shirts and underwear in his exclusive closet. I unpacked about 50 of the mom's old 1980's power suits into an already overflowing  closet off of the movie theatre room. She seemed to notice my hesitation about her keeping them, and assured me that I'd understand when I was older. I'm still waiting for that enlightenment. The new house was far smaller than the LA house and the kids all had to share rooms. The grandmother no longer had her own suite and seemed pretty lost in her room in the hallway with the kids. I kind of felt for her, it seemed like she didn’t have much say in the matter and she was used to being entirely independent, save for driving.

I accidentally disconnected the Internet to the point of unrepair TWICE while in the early days their east coast  house. The second time I was just following instructions the Internet repair person told me when he was fixing it after I broke it the first time. I was horrified and terrified all at once when I realized what I did. I got an earful, and then just stayed out of the way for the next few days.

My childcare duties never really picked back up. I was just managing their move. And talking with all the new hired help they were testing out. And exchanging phone numbers with them so we could text in private about if they should bother to keep the job.

Each of the kids had a pet, and there were two adorable Matli-poo dogs who I loved. I took them both to the groomers one day and one was shaved and the other was just bathed. When I brought them home, the kids thought the shaved one was SO CUTE that they wanted the other one shaved, and I was told to immediately turn around and bring the other one back to get shaved as well. The groomer was so dumfounded, something I could relate to entirely.

I took a week that month to travel to China with my family. When I asked my employers about the trip, the mom said “Sure you can go but we really need you here so make it quick.” (Big smile on her face and all.) I told all the necessary people I was leaving, particularly their accountant who lived in a different state, as he was in charge of my payroll.

While I was overseas I found an email and a followup email from the accountant, sent in rapid succession a good 12 hours before I noticed them. One was asking why I hadn’t sent my hours to him yet. The next one was asking why I hadn’t replied to the first email yet. Neither had a very kind tone. I replied back that I was in China and implied the massive time difference and that I had emailed him about it already and sorry he didn't receive the email. I got a quick reply back with a noticeable difference in tone, “Ni Hao! I spent a year living in China! Have a great trip!” And that was that. 

Christmas was rapidly approaching and one of the mom’s “Best friends in the whole world,” came over to organize all of the kid’s presents. Another friend of the family did all the shopping. Once the presents were labeled they were passed on to me to wrap and re-label the kid’s names and from “Mom and Dad” or “Santa” or whoever else, and put under the tree. I wrapped the presents for the other “help,” and somehow didn’t come across mine, it was an actual surprise when I opened it later that week (it was not wrapped). (Here’s THAT story, written out many years ago and I promise you it’s worth the read.)

I was home with my family on Christmas Day when I got a SCATHING text from the Mom. No Merry Christmas for me. Instead it was about how one of the kids did not receive a present from Santa and he was MORTIFIED and was going to be scarred for life. (Never mind that the “best friend in the whole world” was the one in charge of labeling all the presents, I was just the wrapper and re-labeler.) After texting back “Merry Christmas!” I took the high road and texted some suggestions, with my Mom’s help, about how maybe a present could be “found” on the roof next to the chimney with the kid’s name on it from Santa. I didn’t hear anything back, and the issue was never brought up again.

After Christmas and New Year’s I flew back to their east coast home, on my dime, wearing my new watch (seriously, read this post about my Christmas present), and found the organic Harry and David pears I had sent to them sitting on a counter unboxed and uneaten. I ate most of them my first week back.

I started to get serious about relocating back to Los Angeles and interviewed for a nannying job via Skype. A few days later I was hired for that job and I made quick plans to leave. On my last day there were no real goodbyes, no parting gifts, no kind words. I took the train back to their house an hour away and the next day I was taking a taxi to the airport and getting the heck out of the state. I received an unkind text the night after I left that one of their cars didn’t have enough gas in it and I should have filled it up before I left. I decided not to reply to it.

In some form of kindness, they knew I was going back to their Palisades house where most of my stuff still was. It was up for sale but they weren’t on a fast track to sell it. They knew I was going to stay there for “a few nights.” I didn’t have a place to live or a roommate. I had a start date for my new job and a boyfriend and a car that I could finally drive, I needed some time to sort out the rest. And naturally I worked as fast as I could to sort it all out. One afternoon while I was at their house I ran in to the dad who had flown back for an event. He gave me a cheerful “hello,” asked how I was doing, and was unperturbed that I was there. I was certainly a little frustrated that I was still there, but roommates and new apartments don’t just appear out of thin air and I was doing everything I could to figure it out. That night I sent a courtesy email to the mom, thanking her for letting me stay in their home while I figured out where I was moving to.

I woke up the next morning to a cruel email about how I overstayed my welcome and they were showing the house to potential buyers and how dare I still be there I was being entirely unprofessional and it wasn’t her fault I didn’t have a place to live yet and I needed to let her accountant know as soon as I moved out so they could change the gate code.

Jeremy drove in that morning, as we had already planned, and found me sitting in the bed with tears rolling down my cheeks. He somehow had the feeling to open my laptop up and he saw the email there. Without words he started packing my stuff up and we loaded everything into my car and drove out of the driveway for the very last time. I sent a joint email to the mom and the accountant that they could change the gate code, and we drove down Sunset Boulevard out ot the Palisades, never to return again … 

… until these past few weeks, eight years later … now frequenting some of the places these strange memories are from, in a body that isn’t entirely certain how to feel about it. What a ride.