I
took the thin layer of leftover soap and tried to stick it to a new bar I had
unwrapped. I never stopped to think why I’ve always done this. I don’t throw
away a bottle of liquid soap or a dispenser of lotion either – I cut it open
and use up the last ounce.
I
am not a miser or Scrooge on purpose - I think it goes back to the years of living
under the communist regime when we were deprived of all basic necessities,
things that Americans always expect to be plentiful and available. I never
forgot the powerful lesson of need and deprivation.
The
domestically produced “Cheia” soap was made of animal fat with a particularly
unpleasant odor. We used it to bathe, to do laundry by hand, and to wash our
hair. Few could afford the nicely fragranced “Lux” soap bar available on the black
market or in foreign currency stores set up for visitors.
In
a country where the medical system was socialized and “free,” in order to do
their job right and supplement their meager salaries, doctors accepted bribes
in soap, shampoo, deodorant, cosmetics, perfume, and other expensive and hard
to find items.
Hotel
maids brought home leftover soap, shampoo, or deodorant bottles that foreign
guests discarded from toiletry bags when checking out.
The
garments washed in “Cheia” soap and air-dried on clothes lines smelled like wet
dogs. If that was not bad enough, by the time they dried, they turned grey from
dust and other pollutants. In winter time clothes were stiff on the line.
Lacking
bleach, we used to boil white garments on the stove in a huge cooking pot with
melted soap in it, stirring occasionally with a stick to prevent clothes from
burning. When garments faded, mom added a blue powder to the washing pot to
revive dark colors.
We
saw the communist apparatchiks take their laundry to the cleaners. We envied
the luxury and secretly wished we could do it too.
We
scrubbed dishes with a harsh white powder. We boiled water on the stove to launder
bedding items. Sheets were scrubbed by hand in the tub until my young hands
were raw – no latex gloves.
The
iron was literally a piece of cast iron heated repeatedly on the stove - Grandma’s
version had hot coals inside. I had to be extra careful not to burn the sheets
or Dad’s shirts – they were too expensive to replace.
Because
shampoo was very pricey and hard to find (it came packaged in small plastic
squares for individual use), we washed our hair with “Cheia” in the sink. It
was difficult to rinse the soap out completely; traces of whitish powder remained
in the hair shaft and on the comb. We did not know hair dryers existed until we
watched “Dallas” on TV. In winter time I bent over the gas stove, drying hair
over the open flame – I am still amazed that my mane did not catch on fire – I
did singe the ends sometimes and my eyebrows.
Americans
can find such a wide and cheap variety of products; unappreciative of the
abundance, always wanting more, they are unhappy and gripe about how poor they
are. We would have loved to find just one brand of fragrant bath soap, shampoo,
and toothpaste. What a luxury that would have been!
We
did not fathom the existence of a washing machine much less of a dryer or of a dishwasher.
Women today still hang laundry outside, nobody owns a drier. If they did, they could
not afford the electricity, the rates are sky-high, and the power is
insufficient to run appliances simultaneously. Many people own a front-loading washing
machine but the clothes come out extremely wrinkled and have to be ironed. The
fabric is rough to the touch, not soft. A fragranced liquid detergent replaced the
unpleasant communist era “Cheia” soap.
Deodorant
was also scarce and quite expensive. There was a very good reason why people
smelled – hygiene and grooming were costly and a luxury. Many did not have
running water in their homes or a bathtub; Turkish baths were available in
bigger towns. Cosmetics and grooming products were astronomically priced for
the proletariat - we were all equally poor and smelly.
Shaving
was a luxury and few women owned razors – au naturel was the norm and nobody
complained. Men looked disheveled because it was painful to shave with dull razor
blades every day.
The
ultimate in luxury and financial well-being was to afford a kinky perm in a
beauty shop. Hair was burned in tight curls for months before it grew back
healthy again. Women’s heads looked like sheep.
We
are so spoiled in this country; people spend astronomical amounts for hair products,
soap, cosmetics, deodorant, hair driers, laundry products, and machines that
make life so much easier. Laundry services are affordable enough that many
Americans can take their clothes to be professionally dry cleaned. The deprived
society I grew up in would have been surprised at how little appreciation Americans
have for their plenty.
I
finally understood what my Grandmother meant when she used to tell us, every
time we turned our noses to food or something she offered, “Are you tired of
Good?”
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