Jay woke up one day and said to himself, “gee, I have to get my carpet cleaned. Now I could either vacuum it myself or get a professional to do it.” His mind was kicking the idea from one goalpost to the other. He pondered over the possible benefits of the available options over his tea and breakfast. He picked up a couple of tissues and a pen lying on a rack near by and jotted down a few points. He wrote self on one and professional on the other.     

“5 reasons why I should clean it myself:

1. I will save money. Now that is a good one right away.
2. I could get the bragging rights in front of my wife for a month. I will get away without doing any other chores around the house. That seems nice too.
3. I can lose some weight. May be the girl at the coffee shop down the street will at least smile at me.
4. I can show my wife who wears the pants around here.
5. I think that will be it.”

“5 reasons why a professional should do it:

1. He will do a better job.
2. I won’t have to move a finger.
3. I can have my beer in peace.
4. I can read a book. Wait a minute, who am I kidding? May be I will read the new issue of playboy.
5. I think that does it. A professional should do it.”

He looked at the tissue with ‘Professional’ written on it and winked. But now was to be the toughest part of his job. He still had call up the carpet cleaning guy and that was a problem. Jay had just recently landed up in Australia from as far as India. His English still reeked of a heavy Indian accent, pregnant with glaring grammatical and structural errors. He spoke slowly, carefully translating his thoughts in Hindi to English before speaking. He toyed with the business card of “Carpet Right” for a while, before picking up the receiver. He replaced it immediately. His hands were clammy with nervousness. He dialed it eventually. A sweet, crisp feminine voice was on the other end.

“Hello. Welcome to Carpet Right. How may I help you?”

He was awestruck by the way she spoke in her Australian accent. ‘I want to learn to speak like that,’ he said to himself.

“Hello?” The lady enquired. “How may I help you?”

“Hallo! I am Jay, you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am J-A-Y,” he repeated spelling each word.

“I am sorry. How do you spell your name sir?”

“Yes. J for Jug, A for Apple and Y for, Y for….You,” he said confidently, feeling proud of his achievement. 

“Ohh...k,” said the female voice, stretching the word, somewhat unsure of who she was talking to. “Umm Mr. Jayfru? What can I do for you?”

“You can clean my carpet? It is very bad.”

“Excuse me?”

“My carpet. I want you to clean it,” he said thinking that paraphrasing would help matters.

“So umm, you want me to; I mean you want us to clean your carpet?”

“Yes, yes, very right,” he replied, relieved to have finally got that across.  

“What time and day would be suitable for you sir?”

“Saturday? 10’ clock? Ok? He enquired, supposing that raising your pitch at the end of any word, makes it a question.  

“I will put you down for Saturday, 10’0 clock then. Would that be all sir?”

 “My garden is dirty too. You clean gardens?” he questioned.

“Umm, no sir. We only specialize in cleaning carpets, and hence we are called “Carpet Right” she replied sarcastically. “Thank you very much for your call. Goodbye. Thank you, she said hurriedly, wanting to hang up. 

“Ohh. Ok, ok. Thank you to you too.”

He replaced the receiver and felt good about himself. “I managed that ok. I think I am getting better with English,” he said, beaming.

The carpet cleaning guy showed up as promised. He had his equipment, a big, vaccum look-alike machine and two-three big bottles of some dark colored chemicals. The apparatus looked more like an alien from the outer space. He wore shorts and a loose, dirty, white colored t-shirt. He had his sunglasses on.  

“Howdy mate?” He greeted Jay.

“Hi,” said Jay and shook his hand vigorously. “You should be friendly with these guys. That way they will do a better job,” thought Jay to himself and smiled at being so smart. The carpet guy suggested that he begin with the bedroom first. So after showing him in, Jay sat on his lazy-boy2000 chair kept in the hall with a chilled beer in one hand and the playboy, hidden between the sports section of the Sydney Morning Herald in the other. He pushed his ass back and got in a comfortable position. But just then… 

“Mate, you’d have to gimme a hand with things ‘ere. Is that awright?” The carpet cleaning guy hollered from the bedroom with the typical cheekiness of an Australian bloke.  

“Ok” nodded Jay reluctantly. He left his beer and the magazine on the floor and walked over to the room.

 “Yup, pick it up mate. The couch ain’t so heavy. Give it one good push will ya?”

Lack of exercise made Jay look like someone trying to lift an elephant. The carpet guy amused himself by not picking the couch from his end. Here Jay was almost tearing his pants trying to stretch himself. They moved all the stuff in the bedroom over to the hall. After somewhat clearing the room, the carpet guy plugged in his machine and switched it on.

The hall where all the stuff was kept looked like a refugee camp in Nigeria. Jay tried his best to squeeze in through the furniture and get to his beer. But Jay is fat. Fat is in fact an understatement. His belly looked like a large balloon filled with stones. He left the thought of having beer alone, and licked his lips just by looking at the beer bottle at the far end of the room. Beads of moisture slid over the bottle and onto the floor. He couldn’t get to his magazine either.

His wife picked up their kid and went to the neighbor’s, unable to bear the din. She had told Jay to vacuum it himself. The noise was blowing the roof off, but Jay still tried to speak to the carpet cleaning guy. “After all building a rapport with him will go a long way. Next time he will charge me less. Aaah! I am a genius. My wife will never understand,” he whispered to himself. 

“I am Jay? You?” He asked just to initiate a conversation.

The carpet guy gave him a long, weird look.

‘Gay?’ The carpet guy looked at Jay nervously, before urgently blurting out, “No I am not,” he replied utterly confused at being asked about his sexual orientation so openly.  

“Hmm. Hammot! That’s an interesting name there. Hammot! Are you a German?” Jay asked, slightly amused at such a strange name.

“What kinda question is it? Of course I am a man.”

“That is simply great, isn’t it?” he said with a broad smile. “Do you want tea?”

“Huh? No, I don’t wanna pee. Look here mate, I am not comfortable workin like dis. Either you shut up and lemme do my job here or you do it yourself,” he said, somewhat shaken by Jay’s questions. 

Jay couldn’t understand why the carpet guy was getting so angry. He was only asking if he wanted some tea after all. He went to the hall to attempt to get to the beer again, while the carpet guy went about cleaning the bedroom. But Jay failed and went back to the bedroom to check on how it was going. The carpet guy looked at him suspiciously and kept an eye on Jay’s movements. He was a big man, but he didn’t know how to deal with gays. It had never happened to him before. Any advances from Jay and the carpet guy thought that he would spray the cleaning chemical on Jay’s face and dash out, never to come back.

“Do you want some beer?” Jay asked, knowing clearly that the bottle in the hall was the last one he had. He was hoping that he would ask the carpet guy to get to his bottle, share a sip and take it back.

“Damn! Why would I want to live here?”

“You mean liver? No, no, only beer” he repeated desperate to make him understand.

“Mate don’t you ever, EVER call me your lover or dear again. I’ve got a girlfriend and I am very happy. I swear to God I will knock the livin daylights out of ya if you even tried to come near me.”

“Why are you so angry? Look I will give you good tip. Don’t worry. Here, take this money,” Jay said, offering him $20. Jay smiled and nodded knowingly.

“You want me to what? Oh my god. No I am not stripping for you. Not even for the money. And no, I am NOT your honey. You know what? That’s it. I am outta here. Geez! I am not gay!” He exclaimed, pointing his index finger at himself. The carpet guy wiped his perspiring forehead, switched off his machine and walked out, dragging the apparatus behind him.  

Jay stared at him confused. “I have no problem with that.” Jay ran after him. “Wait Hammot, where are you going? You haven’t finished your work yet.”

The carpet guy was panting with panic. He quickened his steps. He feared that he was going to get raped today. His throat was dry and his heart was thudding like a punching bag does with each blow of a boxer’s. The machine was slowing his pace and Jay was gaining on him. The carpet guy dumped his machine near the fence, got on his truck and drove away to safeguard his dear manhood, sweating and thanking god for rescuing him. Jay called out his name and said “thank you Hammot, thank you for leaving your machine for me.” But he was already out of earshot. He brought the vacuum cleaner lookalike in and switched the machine on. When his wife came back, he said, “Hammot had to rush somewhere, but he is so thoughtful, he left his machine for me. I and he are great friends from today. I told you, one should be nice to these people. But poor guy! I think he is a bit embarrassed of himself, because while he was leaving, he pointed to himself and said with a sad, red face, ‘Hammot’s gay.’ I told him I was ok with it.” Jay said and then shrugged.  

“Tra-la-la-la…dum-de dum dum...,”humming his favorite song and beer in hand, Jay got busy with cleaning his carpet.