Helen, the Cleaning Lady

Helen is the cleaning lady at the store. She has lived in Tulita her entire life, and she speaks Slavey, the language of the locals. If her writing skills were better, Helen could make hundreds of dollars an hour as an interpreter. Instead she cleans toilets. She doesn't feel comfortable on the tills. The pace is a bit too fast for her. She mostly cleans, but also interprets for some of the elders. I'm often sent to bargain with her on the price of produce.

One of the elders is there beside Helen. The old woman is wearing a shawl and inspecting a cellophane box of raspberries. They're mouldy. Helen speaks up for her.

"She says these raspberries. They're no good."

"Yeah, I think they're past due. I should take them off the shelf. I'll go see if there's any new ones in the fridge."

I turn and start off at a fast pace. Although most of the locals aren't in a rush, they don't like to wait around for stockboys either.

"Nooooooo."

I stop. Helen's no's are long and slow. They go up in the middle and back down, like a kid protesting his bedtime. "NooOOO000OOOoooo."

Helen and the woman speak in Slavey for a moment.

"She says she'll pay you half price."

I look at the elder, and then at the berries. They're mouldy. The box is no bigger than the palm of your hand, and it costs $8 at full price. Even at $4, the store is ripping this poor woman off.

"Are you sure they're still good to eat Helen? I'll go find some better ones."

"NoooOOO0000OOOoooo."

This is the no of a mother with several kids. It's a scolding no. The look on her face says, "stand still for a moment and listen." She talks to the elder in Slavey again for a moment.

"Make it three dollars a box and she'll buy two."

"Ok. Deal."

The stony face of the old lady breaks into a smile. She says something to Helen in Slavey, and they both laugh. I stand by with the stupid grin of someone who doesn't get the joke. Helen refuses to translate for me. I go back to work. Customer service is my first priority. It says so on my vest.