Essay On Middle Class

Essay On Middle Class-42
The squeal of her vacuum reminds me why I have the opportunity to drive my squealing car to school.I am where I am today because my mom put an enormous amount of labor into the formula of the American Dream.

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She put an ad in the paper advertising house cleaning, and a couple, both professors, answered.

They became her first client, and their house became the bedrock of our sustenance.

I memorized the geometry of place mats slid on metal trays, coffee cups turned downward, dirtied cloth napkins disposed on dining tables.

I knew never to wear pajamas outside in the public courtyard, and years of shushing from my mother informed me not to speak loudly in front of a guest room window.

I grew up in the swaddled cacophony of morning chatter between tourists, professors, and videographers.

I grew up conditioned in excessive politeness, fitted for making small talk with strangers.

It’s her blue Hoover vacuums that hold up the framework of my life.

Someday, I hope my diploma can hold up the framework of hers.

Small-business scammers came for a stop at the inn several times.

Guests stained sheets, clogged toilets, locked themselves out of their rooms, and then demanded a discount.

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