Recently I saw a series of pictures of someone who had holed up in a hotel room for eight months, only to be evicted once people started complaining about the smell. Styrofoam from what looked like a thousand unfinished ready meals was piled on one bed, while the other had sheets that looked wet and brown. Spray tan poorly applied while lying down, perhaps. Empty boxes of tissues were stacked in one corner of the room, surrounded by mounds of plastic bags filled with rubbish. And then the toilet, which is as disgusting as it is unrecognisable. A hill of toilet paper had constructed itself from the bowl upwards with a gap in it showing a black hole of faeces. How someone even lived in these conditions is impossible to imagine.
One important factor that distinguishes us from our animal counterparts is the fact that we’re civilised. Or, at least most of us try to be so. It always amazes me how people are able to live in conditions that even the most feral of creatures would turn their noses up at. As they surround themselves with piles of dirty dishes, unwashed clothes, and heavens knows what else, I cannot but be staggered at how they manage to function in life.
Most of us have had one of those flatmates. You know, the kind who leaves food-encrusted plates in the sink, with no promise of the crockery ever seeing its original state of cleanliness again. Or those who would let hair keep clogging the bathroom drain until the bathtub threatened to drown them – and only then they might think about cleaning their pubes out of the drain, maybe next week. I had one such person living in the same flat as me years back. I had to retrieve mouldy dishes from her room regularly, a venture which felt like a scene from a horror movie where an unaffected person tip-toes into the open world to check if the zombies have all gone. On one such expedition I found a wastebucket full of vomit. I’d never before experienced ironic nausea and I never want to again.
I just don’t get how people can sleep, dress, and carry on with their life surrounded by all this. Is their sense of smell shot? Is there a severe lack of self-respect at play? Or are they just lazy? The latter of those options seems likely, and I don’t blame people for approaching the idea of housework with the moan of a child told to eat a plate full of boiled cabbage. Cleaning is tedious, we all know that, but it’s a small price to pay. We all make these kinds of sacrifices in life so we can function better and not live in our own filth like animals. We are not creatures that live in nests made from the stuff that comes out of our assholes, nor are we a species that wanders around daring ticks and flies to suck off our bodily juices as we crawl through the dirt. We have advanced as a species, so why can’t we start acting like it?
I have friends who are messy and I admit freely that I look down on them. And why not? When they pick themselves up from a carpet stained with the residue of some epic masturbation session, past bed sheets that went straight from Primark packaging to soiled mattress when bought seven years back, and through the thick atmosphere of smells and dust, I will look at them face to face. Until then I shall condescend.
Someone had to clean up that hotel room, all because someone else was too fucking lazy to carry out functions as simple as emptying a bin or flushing the toilet. The disregard for the cleaners (if not bio-hazard team) who would have had to deal with this is almost as disgusting as the cesspool left behind by this particular tenant. Have some respect, especially when this isn’t your own house.
In your own house, where you live alone, away from any humans with a shred of decency, you can pile up all the crap you want (literal or otherwise). Just don’t expect anyone to want to come around and ever spend time with you, you filthy animal.