The next morning, Ellie stood before the imposing gates of the White House, feeling woefully underdressed in her sensible shoes and practical, if slightly wrinkled, blouse. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Security guards, looking impossibly stern, checked her ID and the letter with the precision of bomb disposal experts.
"Chen, Eleanor?" a bored voice droned from a speaker.
"That's me! Ellie!" she chirped, trying to sound confident. It came out more like a mouse squeak.
The gates swung open with a slow, ominous creak. She walked through, past manicured lawns and stately trees, towards the iconic white building. It looked smaller in real life than on TV, but somehow even more significant. Like a very important cake.
Inside, the opulence hit her first. Gilded frames, plush carpets, and the distinct smell of expensive polish. A woman with a severe bob and an even more severe expression met her. "Miss Chen? I'm Agatha Grimshaw, Head of Housekeeping. Welcome to the Executive Residence." Her tone suggested it was less of a welcome and more of a life sentence.
Agatha Grimshaw led her through a labyrinth of corridors, past doors that surely contained secrets of national importance, all while rattling off rules and protocols faster than Ellie could process them.
"Punctuality is paramount. Silence is golden. Discretion is non-negotiable. We are invisible. We are efficient. We are the backbone of this establishment, yet we are never seen." Agatha pointed to a supply closet. "This is your domain. Your uniform is inside. Be quick."
Ellie fumbled with the uniform—a practical, navy jumpsuit that made her feel less like a cleaner and more like a very confused astronaut. Agatha handed her a mop. Not just a mop, but The Mop. It looked deceptively ordinary, but in Agatha's hand, it wielded the power of a national treasure.
"Your first task," Agatha stated, her eyes narrowed, "is the East Room. The President will be conducting a very important press conference there this afternoon. I want the floors gleaming. Not just clean, Miss Chen. Gleaming. Like a thousand tiny suns are dancing on the polished wood."
Ellie nodded vigorously, perhaps a little too vigorously. "Yes! Gleaming! Like… like a disco!"
Agatha's expression remained glacial. "Precisely. Now, get to it."
Armed with The Mop and a bucket, Ellie entered the East Room. It was vast, echoing, and intimidating. Every inch of it screamed "historical significance." She took a deep breath, dipped her mop, and began to work, humming a slightly off-key Xanadu folk tune. This was it. Her new life. Gleaming. Like a disco.