Tonight, I did what is possibly one of the most disgusting things I have ever had to do. That’s right, I cleaned up after my roommate.
I’m not a neat freak by any means, but I don’t particularly like it when I can’t find a clean place on the table to put my napkin, or when the kitchen counters have crumbs all over. I’m not even exaggerating. I could show you pictures, because I’ve taken a few in the last couple months of times when it wasn’t even as bad as it was tonight, but I don’t want to disgust you. Especially because you might be eating. 😛
I started cleaning at 10:20pm. I only cleaned the downstairs, and you would think the downstairs of a smallish apartment wouldn’t take very long to clean. Maybe half an hour. I mean, it’s only a kitchen that barely fits two people, a dining area, and a living room with a couch, TV, and a couple coffee tables. Well, maybe that assumption is correct when you’re cleaning up after most people, but I finished cleaning at 12:50am. Two and a half hours, it took me! Two and a half.
I’m subletting from my friend Rebecca for the summer, and she got this apartment with her close friends Sean and Shaun, so right now I’m living with Sean. At first I thought, “well, he’s just a guy. I guess it makes sense that he would be messy,” but the level of messy is absolutely ridiculous, I tell you. I have never known someone who was so okay with living in their own filth, who was so okay with constantly having fruit flies in the kitchen from all the crumbs on the counter and dirty dishes in the sink. I’ll admit, I’m sometimes lazy with the dishes too, but his don’t help and he usually leaves more than me and for longer.
One day, he asked me, “do you know what this stuff is under the burner?” I was floored. Floored that he didn’t know what it was, and floored that he was probably asking me because he thought I had something to do with it. Well, for your information, all I ever cook on the stove is spaghetti, ramen, and cheese quesadillas. Not exactly mess-worthy.
“I think it’s food from cooking on the stove,” I said, and walked away.
He cleaned the stove after that, thankfully, although not very well. He doesn’t seem to know how to clean, to be honest. The two times he has cleaned the table, it did not work out. Most recently was about three nights ago when he chopped onions on a cutting board on the table. He managed to get little onion pieces all around the cutting board, and when I walked past later and saw that he had cleaned them up, there were giant streaks from where he had slid each onion piece off the table.
Another time, I asked him to clean the table for me since I had a friend coming over right after work, and I didn’t have time to clean it before work. I thought it was fair to ask him, since I had cleaned the kitchen and table two days before, and he dirtied them right back up. When I got home with my friend that afternoon, the table had been cleaned, yes. I don’t know what he cleaned it with, though, because it was visibly streaky and I could feel stuff still on it. Good job, Sean. Good job.
Among the things I had to touch tonight when I cleaned: a pair of his shorts that he left on the floor next to the couch in the living room.