I live in Gaslight Manor. It’s like a frat house, but not a rich kid frat house. Its occupants are middle class douchey kids who cannot afford house cleaners. Their RA is a loveable 40 something year old who is torn between being a responsible adult and not really giving a fuck. He goes to work everyday, supports us, but has recently begun collecting vintage standing arcade games that have taken up residence in the dining and living rooms.
Every morning I start my day by forcing open the bathroom door because somehow every towel gets utilized and then tossed onto the floor. I fear we may have some type of demon or ghost whose only sustenance is toilet paper, because there is never any when I need it. I can only assume that the medicine cabinet and drawers are stops on a frenzied scavenger hunt in the wee hours of the morning. (Alas, I do not think the hunters ever find what they’re looking for.) Of course, none of my housemates ever confess to even being in the bathroom overnight.
Another fun game they like to play is “Dirty Dish Jenga.” They are quite adept at it too. I recently discovered that either through pure genius or utter laziness, my housemates have discovered that using sticky and/or quick hardening foods as an epoxy pretty much guarantees a win. Again, the housemates assigned to dish duty can never agree on whose turn it is to do the dishes.
I do worry though. I am concerned that my housemates may be having vision issues. They don’t seem to notice random objects on the floor, dirty dishes in their rooms or on the couch, shoes thrown on the floor next to the shoe basket, random articles of clothing strewn around the house, or unflushed toilets. When items go missing, no one has used them in “like forever.”
On top of the physical mess, my housemates have mastered the art of emotional manipulation as well. As mentioned before, they never seem to participate in any of the mess making fun. When I reprimand them for anything, they deploy their cunning mind fuckery compelling me to feel guilty.
I often wonder as I’m driving them to and from spur of the moment decisions, if I am truly losing my grasp on reality, or am I the only remaining sane one.
Though he too has been known to dabble in the art of bamboozlery, the other RA also falls prey to the younger housemates at times. Instead of looking inward and questioning his sanity, he usually tries to either outwit or out-yell at the two evil geniuses we have spawned. Either way, he loses.
Tonight we all lost, as I very much lost my shit on my fellow housemates. My anger and disappointment had been building. I asked that the house be picked up before I got up this morning. It was not. I asked that it be picked up by the time I got home. It was not. After finally being told that everything was done, I went downstairs to find that things were only partially cleaned. I yelled, and then I yelled some more, and then I cried. I know that someday I will miss their mess. I am genuinely dreading that day. So, maybe expectations need to be set a little higher and directives need to be a little stronger. Maybe I need to learn to embrace some of the mess. Because every night, I thank the universe for sending my messy housemates to me. I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.
bean láidir 