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JM Cleaning Hawaii Reviews from Real Customers
Operation Cleanup
I’m not typically the “spontaneous house party” type of guy. Honestly. Ask anyone who knows me—well, except maybe Kekoa and the guys from last night. But when Leilani texted that her conference in Maui got extended by two days, something in me just… snapped.
Freedom. Sweet, unexpected freedom.
It started innocently enough. Just Kekoa coming over to watch the UH Warriors game. We’ve been friends since Punahou days—he’s the kind of friend who shows up with a six-pack and ends up staying for three days. That’s just who he is. But this time, he brought Mike and Kalani, and then Mike called his cousin who was visiting from the mainland, and then…
Well, let’s just say by 10 PM, our little place in Mānoa Valley had about fifteen people in it. By midnight? I lost count somewhere after twenty-five.
I remember standing on our lanai, beer in hand, watching some guy I’d never met before demonstrating how to properly crack a coconut with a rock. In my living room. Using one of Leilani’s decorative coconuts she brought back from Moloka’i last summer.
That was probably when I should’ve shut it down.
But the night had that electric feel, you know? The trade winds had died down, leaving that heavy, still heat that makes everything feel a little dreamy and unreal. Someone had connected their phone to our speakers, and slack key guitar floated through the rooms. People were laughing, talking story, hanging out in that easy way that just happens sometimes in Hawai’i.
“Brah, this is the best Tuesday night I’ve had in years,” Kekoa shouted over the music, slinging his arm around my shoulders. “Leilani should go to conferences more often!”
I remember nodding, but there was already this little voice in the back of my head starting to panic. Our cream-colored carpet. Leilani’s collection of native Hawaiian plants carefully arranged around the house. The vintage koa wood coffee table her grandmother gave us.
The party didn’t end until 3 AM. The last stragglers—a couple I’m pretty sure nobody actually knew—finally stumbled out with promises to “do this again soon, yeah?”
When I woke up at 10 the next morning, I nearly had a heart attack.
It wasn’t just messy. It was apocalyptic. Somehow someone had gotten li hing mui powder on the ceiling—the CEILING. Red Solo cups had reproduced and multiplied like rabbits. The carpet had more stains than I could count. Was that… sand on the couch? And why was there a pineapple core stuffed into one of Leilani’s potted monstera plants?
Leilani was coming home tomorrow morning. I had exactly 24 hours.
I called Kekoa first. “Brah,” I hissed into the phone. “You need to get your okole back over here and help me clean up.”
“Can’t, cuz. Got that job interview I told you about. The one in Kapolei? Besides,” he chuckled, “that’s why they invented cleaning services, right?”
Which is how I found myself frantically googling “emergency house cleaning Honolulu” and “house cleaning cost calculator” at 10:30 in the morning while simultaneously trying to fish what appeared to be someone’s slipper out of our toilet.
I found this company that promised “discreet, thorough cleaning services on short notice.” Their website had this whole section about “judgment-free cleanup,” which I took to mean they’d seen worse than my situation. God, I hoped they’d seen worse than my situation.
When I called, the woman who answered didn’t even flinch when I rambled about my “unexpected gathering” that “got slightly out of hand.”
“We’ve seen it all, Mr. Kanahele,” she said with the calm confidence of someone who professionally cleans up other people’s catastrophes for a living. “We have a three-person team that can be there in two hours. Will that work?”
Would that work? That was like asking a drowning man if a lifeboat would work.
The cleaning team arrived exactly when they said they would. Three women with the most impressive arsenal of cleaning supplies I’ve ever seen. They took one look around, and the leader—Lani—just nodded.
“Bachelor party?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, just… a few friends came over.”
“Mmhmm,” she said, in a tone that made it clear she didn’t believe me for a second. “Well, we’ll have this sorted in about four hours. You might want to head out, grab some lunch or something.”
So I did what any reasonable adult would do. I fled to Zippy’s, ordered a loco moco, and stress-ate while scrolling through Instagram to see if anyone had posted evidence of my shame. Thankfully, it seemed like what happens in Mānoa stays in Mānoa.
When I came back, I couldn’t believe it was the same house. The place was immaculate. Better than immaculate—it was cleaner than when Leilani left. The carpet looked almost new. The hardwood floors gleamed. Even the monstera plant looked somehow healthier, though I’m pretty sure that was just my relief talking.
“How did you get the li hing mui off the ceiling?” I asked Lani, as I was signing the credit card receipt.
“Trade secret,” she winked. “But next time, maybe just stick to beers, yeah?”
I tipped them generously. Obscenely, really. But there’s no price too high for saving your relationship.
When Leilani came home the next morning, she dropped her bags by the door and looked around suspiciously.
“Did you… clean?” she asked, brow furrowed.
“Wanted to surprise you,” I said, which wasn’t technically a lie. “How was the conference?”
She walked through the house, running her finger along surfaces like she was checking for dust. “It was good. Productive.” She paused by the monstera plant. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just… did you repot my monstera?”
“No? Why would I do that?”
She shrugged. “It just looks different somehow.” She sniffed the air. “And why does everything smell like pineapple?”
My heart stopped for a second before I realized the cleaning crew had used some tropical-scented cleaner. “New air freshener,” I said quickly. “Thought you’d like it.”
Later that night, as we were getting ready for bed, Leilani pulled something out from between the couch cushions.
A single red Solo cup.
She held it up, eyebrow raised. “Care to explain?”
And that’s when I knew—some evidence can’t be erased, no matter how good your cleaning crew is. Sometimes you just have to come clean, in more ways than one.
— Keoni Kanahele, Honolulu, Hawaii