I cracked the tab and took a long drink before setting it aside and putting together my brown bag lunch. When I pulled out the plastic container where I stowed deli meat and cheese, I realized we were running low. I hastily calculated the days between now and my next paycheck and closed the box without making a sandwich. Today an extra apple and some peanut butter would have to round out my carrots and whole wheat crackers. With my lunch packed, I returned to my bedroom and slipped into the perky pink uniform provided by the five star hotel where I worked as a maid. I pulled on a pair of low cut socks and the ugly but comfortable white shoes I had polished last night before going to bed. I styled my hair into a tightly coiled French twist—one of the three hairstyles permitted within the new strict dress code—and turned to the side to check my reflection. I slid my hand down the front of the dress and made sure there were no wrinkles in the highly starched outfit. Our housekeeping manager was forgiving, but the new hotel manager was a real hard ass about our appearances.
