When Louise Rafkin was young, she tells us, she wanted to be a spy. At that age, she imagined the job would entail snooping around people's houses and going through their things. And now that she's grown, that's pretty much what she does as a San Francisco Bay Area housecleaner-for-hire. Rafkin has lots of customers, and she enjoys telling us all about the small but crucial details of their private lives: One is on a silly diet, one is having an affair, another is dying of AIDS but hasn't yet told anyone. It's far from Erma Bombeck material; Rafkin has an anecdotal style which lends itself well to intelligent discourse on the psychology behind cleaning as a personal and social act—especially considering the notable class boundaries between her and the sort of people who hire her. But even though griping about the gentry has always been the primary amusement of the hired help, Rafkin avoids broad generalizations in favor of compassion and self-sufficiency. When she speaks with people who have built their careers while cleaning for Hearsts and Astors, she isn't always sympathetic: She points out that she owns her own business, after all, while many wealthy household staffers have it relatively easy, if somewhat well-starched. This attitude, combined with a near-obsession with cleanliness, even compelled Rafkin to visit Japan and join a society of people who clean public spaces as spiritual practice. Other People's Dirt is a rare thing: a thoughtful exploration of a mundane necessity that actually manages to entertain.