Becoming a Happy Maid

A Better Offer

“It’s not fair,” Jack said to his friend across the coffee shop table. “Here I am slaving away 60 hours a week at minimum wage for an asshole boss who won’t pay overtime… and then I see this.”

Jack showed him a job listing on his phone.

“Look at it. $200 bucks an hour. An hour!” he said. “For ‘light cooking and cleaning’. Set your own hours. Women only, 18 to 25. It’s not fair.”

“Dude,” said his friend Dave. “You wouldn’t want to work that job anyway. It’s creepy.”

“It’s a legit company. I looked them up. Tiffany Thompson’s Happy Maids Unlimited. They clean rich people’s houses and yachts and stuff. The only reason they’re charging so much is because it’s young hot girls doing it.”

“Exactly,” said Dave after finishing a sip of his coffee. “Only creepy old men pay for that. And they probably expect more than just ‘light cooking and cleaning’… I can assure you of that.” He finished his coffee. “I’m going up for a refill. You need anything?

Jack had barely halfway finished his coffee. “I’m good, thanks.”

Dave got up and went to the coffee shop counter. It was the middle of the afternoon, so it wasn’t too busy right now. A few people were around — some working on their laptops, a few friends sitting and chatting, a couple college kids on an awkward date, probably meeting for the first time… Jack shook his head looking at that job listing on his phone, though. “Women are so lucky,” he said.

He knew nothing illegal or cringy was going on. He already checked out their website. Everything was clear in black and white. Yes, they only hired beautiful young women. And yes, those women were expected to provide their maid services topless, bottomless, or both. But no client was ever allowed to touch them. They could watch, but that was it. This was a “housekeeping and entertainment service,” the website said. And if any client broke one of the rules, a bodyguard was waiting just outside in the car, ready to come to the rescue. All maids wore a silver bracelet with a Bluetooth emergency alert button. These girls were safe. They just had to walk around naked or partially naked, doing “light” cooking and cleaning, while some rich client watched. That was it. And they made $200 an hour to do that. Plus tips!

Jack was jealous. Men didn’t get jobs like that. No, because he didn’t have tits or a cute butt, because he was male, he was expected to work practically as a slave, doing dirty gross jobs for minimum wage. He worked at a fast-food restaurant. Some independent, family-owned place in town. He’d been working there for three years now. No pay raises. No paid time off. No health benefits. It was just supposed to be temporary to pay his way through college, but what started as part-time slowly grew into full-time and eventually into overtime. They “needed” him. They were a small business. Couldn’t afford extra help. They promised him a management position after he finished his college degree. But with working so many hours there, finishing college was getting pushed farther and farther off.

Jack needed a change. He needed something different. He was looking for new jobs. Better jobs. And that’s when he came across the “Happy Maids Unlimited” job listing. He couldn’t believe his eyes. $200 an hour. That had to be a typo. What was the catch? So he checked out their website. Read reviews on the Better Business Bureau and Glassdoor. They were legit. They were 100% safe. Their girls were quite happy and often bragged about how much they made on their Instagram or TikTok accounts…

One girl worked 2 hours one day, merely dusted and straightened some sheets and washed some clothes… and not only did she make $400 for her base pay, but her client — who remained anonymous — gave her a $600 tip! She wasn’t even fully naked. She was just topless the whole time! And he never even got to touch her!

$1,000 bucks for 2 hours of easy work. Simple chores he already did at home himself!

But they were hiring “women only, age 18 to 25.”

It sucked.

He was frustrated. “Fuck it,” he said. He hit the “apply” button anyway, sending them his prebuilt resume. He knew they’d never call him in. His name was Jack Morgan. Not Jacqueline. Not Jackie. Just Jack. Clearly a boy’s name. He didn’t care. He knew he’d never get the job. But out of spite or desperation or frustration — maybe a mix of all of the above — he applied for the position anyway. As a joke, maybe. Just to make himself feel better.

And then he went back to searching for “real” jobs that he was actually eligible for.

Dave returned to their table with a fresh cup of coffee. “You see that girl over there?” he asked Jack, nodding to a pretty blonde across the room, seated at her own table. “Chatted her up in line. Got the digits. We’re seeing a movie Friday night.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Of course you are,” he said. Dave was always picking up girls in public. Jack didn’t know how he did it. He wished he had Dave’s confidence and charisma. Seemed he was with a new girl every week. Whereas Jack hadn’t had a girlfriend — let alone sex — in nearly a year and a half. Too busy working overtime at the restaurant. No time for a girlfriend. Too exhausted when he wasn’t working anyway.

Something needed to change for him — and soon. He couldn’t let this become his life, his future… He needed to get out. Bu rent was expensive and he couldn’t afford to just quit. Not without having another good job lined up first.

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