The Financial Humiliation A Graduate’s Journey into Service and Submission (part-one)

The Price of Survival Sudhir’s life felt like a never-ending uphill climb. When he was a kid, his father died, and it was just him and his mother against the world. She picked up jobs as a domestic helper, cleaning other people’s homes, and even sold her last piece of jewelry so Sudhir could go to a decent school. He knew what she’d given up for him, so he buried himself in his studies, trying to make it all worth it. But no matter how hard he worked, poverty stuck around. He had to take out a big student loan just to get through college. After graduation, Sudhir packed his bags and moved to Seattle. He pictured it as a place where anything could happen—where hard work would finally pay off. He had simple dreams: get a good job, help his mother live comfortably, pay off the debt. But then reality smacked him in the face. “Sir, your grades are excellent, but your degree is from a tier-3 community college. Our firm only hires from Ivy League or top-tier universities,” the HR manager told him, all polite smiles, sliding Sudhir’s folder back across the table. Sudhir just sat there, stunned. He’d always believed good grades and hard work would open doors, but here, none of that seemed to matter. The weeks dragged on. His savings disappeared, eaten up by rent and groceries. Then, the grace period on his loan ran out. Every morning, his phone lit up with calls from debt collectors. His heart pounded every time. At some point, he stopped thinking about a career—he just needed any job to keep the lights on. One afternoon, wandering around with no real purpose, he spotted a handwritten flyer taped to a pole:

URGENT STAFF REQUIRED - LUXURY WOMEN’S RESIDENCE CLEANER. APPLY WITHIN. He felt a surge of shame. A college graduate, cleaning toilets? But then he thought about his mother’s tired eyes, the bank’s threats. He took a breath and called the number. — When he got to the building, Sudhir did a double take. The place looked like a five-star hotel—shiny marble floors, towering glass, everything spotless. Inside, he met Rachel Patel, the House Manager. She looked about forty, sharp-eyed and all business, like she’d seen everything and wasn’t impressed by much. As soon as he walked in, she seemed to size him up.

“Your name is Sudhir?” she asked, her tone unreadable. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his voice small. “So, you graduated college and now you want to clean floors?” There was a hint of a smirk. Sudhir stared at the floor. “I’m in a tough spot. I need the money to pay off my loans. I work hard.” Rachel leaned forward, hands pressed on the desk. “This isn’t just any place. The women here are top executives—IT, finance, consulting. They pull in six figures, work insane hours. They don’t have time or interest to do chores. Honestly, they don’t clean up after themselves. At all.” She fixed him with a look. “You’ll be cleaning every inch of their suites. Bathrooms, toilets, everything. Every morning before they wake up, the halls and common areas have to be spotless. Once they leave, you go straight into their rooms and clean up their mess.” She didn’t let up. “There’s no room for mistakes. If anyone complains about you, or says you didn’t follow an order, you’re out. No questions.” Rachel gave a dry laugh. “What one of these women pays in rent every month? It’s probably more than you’ll see in your whole life. Our standards are sky-high. Their comfort comes before everything.” Sudhir felt sick. The salary barely covered the basics, but he was cornered. Rachel slid a contract across the table. “Sign here. If you quit before six months, you owe a $2,000 penalty.” He felt trapped. To pay off one debt, he was signing up for another. His hand shook as he signed his name. “Good.

Be here at 6:00 AM tomorrow.” Sudhir showed up at the gate right at 6:00 AM, just like he was told. The morning air was cold, but he was already sweating. He grabbed a broom and got started. First up, the hallways. Outside every door—piles of shoes. Not just any shoes, either. We’re talking designer heels, fancy sneakers, boots that probably cost more than his whole month’s wages. He spent the next hour lining them up, shaking his head. These people were so successful, but couldn’t even keep their shoes in order. He switched to mopping. And just then, a door swung open on the first floor. Out came Nisha, still in pajamas, stretching and rubbing her eyes. She was clutching an empty whiskey bottle. “Hey, cleaner! Over here,” she called out, barely looking at him. Sudhir dropped his mop and hurried over. “Clean my suite. Now. I’ve got to be at the office by eight.” He stepped in and stopped cold. The place was a wreck—empty liquor bottles everywhere, takeout boxes on every surface, clothes tossed around like confetti. He even spotted underwear and socks on the bed and by the bathroom door. He felt his face burn, but he pushed it down and started tidying up. Trash first. Laundry next. Then the bathroom—a disaster zone full of water stains, hair, and whatever was left from the night before. Half an hour later, the suite finally looked presentable. Nisha came out, now in a sharp suit, sizing up his work. “Hmm, not bad.

Good work for your first day,” she said, pulling out a $50 and pressing it into his hand. “Here. And listen—” She patted him on the head, like she was rewarding a pet. “Good Tommy.” Then she slammed the door in his face. Sudhir just stood there, stunned. Tommy? Like a dog? For a second, he wanted to toss the money back at her door. But his empty wallet convinced him otherwise. He stuffed the bill in his pocket. Next up: the big suite. A mini-penthouse, shared by three women—Sneha, Deepa, and Gayatri, all top executives at the same big-name firm. He knocked. A sharp voice answered, “Come in! It’s open.” He walked in and found all three still in bed. Music was on, coffee cups in hand, laptops scattered everywhere. The room was a mess, but not just any mess—a high-end, expensive one. Makeup everywhere, designer clothes spilling out of baskets, electronics tangled in cords. Sudhir got to work: folded clothes, tossed trash, scrubbed floors and the bathroom. When he finished, he stepped out to find all three watching him—no thank you, just that chilly, distant look people give their house help. He turned to leave, but Deepa stopped him.

“Wait.” She pointed at a pair of plastic flip-flops by the bathroom door, still wet, a little dirty. “These slippers… who’s going to clean them?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. Sudhir froze. He was supposed to clean rooms, not wash shoes. “Ma’am, that’s… that’s not my job,” he managed. “Oh, really?” Sneha said, getting out of bed. “So you’re just going to leave the job half-done?” “No, Ma’am, I… I have other rooms to do,” he said, voice shaking. “Don’t move!” Deepa snapped. “We all saw it. You’re being lazy. Go complain to the Manager if you want.” Sudhir’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. So he ran straight to Rachel Patel’s office. “Ma’am, the women in Suite 3 want me to clean their toilet slippers. That’s not what I signed up for!” he said, almost pleading. Rachel leaned back, sighing like he was just another problem on her list. “Sudhir,” she said, her voice tired, “I warned you. These women don’t do anything themselves. If they want their slippers cleaned, you clean them.”"But Ma'am—"

"Don’t even start!" Rachel snapped. "Face it. You’re desperate, so you play by their rules. And you’ve already broken one."

Sudhir’s head spun. "Then I quit! I’m not a slave—I’m a person!"

Rachel’s lips curled into a cold smile. "That’s up to you. Quit if you want. But your contract says you owe $2,000. Right now."

Sudhir’s heart dropped. "I don’t have that kind of money! That’s the whole point—I’m working to survive!"

Rachel just shrugged. "Well, that’s your problem, isn’t it? Until you pay, you work. So get back out there and finish the job."

He felt like he’d stepped into some twisted nightmare. His job wasn’t freedom—it was another cage, and his dignity was the price. Rage and helplessness tangled inside him as he left Rachel’s office.

Later that night, Sneha, Deepa, and Gayatri came home from their fancy jobs and heard all about Sudhir’s ‘rebellion.’

They thought it was hilarious.

"He actually went to the Manager to complain?" Sneha said, grinning.

Deepa snorted. "He’s clueless. He has no idea how this place works."

Gayatri glanced at her nails. "He can’t even pay the penalty. He’s not going anywhere."

Deepa’s eyes lit up, mischief taking over. "Tomorrow’s Sunday. We’re off. Let’s mess with him."

They had someone call Sudhir to their suite right away.

He came in, quiet, looking at the floor. The three women lounged on the bed, all smiles, but there was something hungry in their eyes.

"Come on in, Sudhir," Deepa said, grinning. "We heard you need cash. Loans, your mom—lots to pay for, right?"

He just nodded.

Sneha stepped closer. "We want to help. Five thousand bucks. Enough?"

Sudhir’s eyes shot open. Five thousand. That would clear his loans, cover his family for months.

"But there’s a catch," Gayatri said, tilting her head. "You have to earn it. Tomorrow’s our day off. You’ll stay in this room and do exactly what we say."

"Every order," Deepa said, her smile sharp. "No more attitude like this morning, okay?"

Sudhir stared at them. Five grand or his pride. He couldn’t bring himself to argue. He just bowed his head. "Yes."

"Good boy," Sneha purred.

Sudhir turned to go, but Deepa stopped him. "Hang on. Finish what you started this morning," she said, pointing at a pair of plastic slippers.

He reached for a rag.

"Nope," Deepa cut in. "Not with a cloth. With your tongue."

Sudhir froze. Dread coiled inside him. He’d never imagined this kind of humiliation. His eyes stung with tears.

Gayatri, still wearing the slippers, stepped up and held out her foot, the sole right in his face. She’d just come out of the bathroom.

Sudhir was done fighting. Debt crushed whatever was left of his pride. He dropped to his knees, shut his eyes, and licked the dirty, wet sole.

The taste made him gag, but he didn’t stop. That’s what desperation does—it turns people into something else.

The women kept chatting and laughing like he wasn’t even there.

"Look at him," Sneha said. "All that education, and here he is."

When he finally finished, Gayatri slipped her feet out. "Now the top," she said, voice light as ever.

Sudhir ran his tongue along the upper sole—the spot where Gayatri’s heel and toes had been. The taste of her skin lingered, a little salty, and it made his stomach twist.

When the slippers finally gleamed, he pulled back and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He just sat there, feeling completely humiliated.

But Gayatri wasn’t finished. “Lie down on the floor. Flat on your back.”

He’d already given up his pride, so he did what she said and stretched out on the carpet.

Gayatri peeled off her socks. Her feet were still a bit damp from being inside shoes all day, and a tired, sweaty smell hovered in the air. She pressed both feet right onto Sudhir’s face and started rubbing them over his nose, his eyes, even his mouth—using him like a towel.

Tears leaked out of Sudhir’s eyes, but her feet just pressed them back into his skin. Lying there, he felt everything he’d hoped for—career, respect—slip away.

A few minutes later, once her feet were dry, she pulled them back.

“Alright, you can go now,” Sneha said, barely looking at him.

Deepa didn’t let up. “Remember, tomorrow morning, after you finish the rest of the house, you come straight here. You’ve got a long day if you want that money.”

Sudhir stood. His face burned with tears and shame. He didn’t say a word. He just bowed his head and left.

That night, he lay awake in the dark. The taste of bathroom water lingered, and the smell of her feet wouldn’t leave him.

“Five thousand dollars, just one day,” he whispered, rubbing his eyes. He decided he’d push through. With that money, he could pay off the penalty, get out of this place, and send something home to his mother.

But as he stared at the clock and saw how little time was left before morning, the whole situation crashed down on him. This so-called opportunity had turned into a cage, and he was only just starting to realize how trapped he really was.