Down and Dirty
Posted on September 10, 2013 under Storytelling with no comments yet
When you live in a university town, there is a constant ebb and flow that follows the school year. Students arrive en masse in September and leave in late April. You see a lot of moving vans and teary eyed parents. The tears are a mixture of sadness and apprehension that their children are preparing to leave the nest forever. At least that’s the hope.
After a year or two of living on campus, many students opt for off-campus housing in the form of rental units. There’s only one thing worse than helping your children move and that is the delicate task of helping them clean their apartment when the lease is up. If you want to see tears, watch a parent clean up after a horde of quasi-adults.
There is a hierarchy of dirt. There is our own, our children’s and finally, that of total strangers.
We can all deal with our own squalor, as bad as it might appear. We have moved a little bit more than the average family. Once it was a move to the county to accommodate a flock of chickens and a few roosters that graced our property in town. There is a longer version to that story including our haphazard attempts at corralling and transporting the flock.
At the best of times, doing the final cleanup in your own home is soul destroying work. But it can be worse. A lot worse.
Inevitably, your children will want to leave home. Some say they will be gone for good by the time they reach the age of thirty. It starts in high school when they plead to share a summer rental with buddies. A piece of advice to parents: under no circumstances, allow your teenage child to do a sublet with buddies. Ever. Even if they guarantee never to come home again. One memorable year, we were pressed into action and undertook the cleanup of the rental at the end of the summer. It is hard to describe what we encountered upon entering the house but, by all accounts, we should have been wearing hazardous waste suits. Fukushima looked like the Public Gardens in comparison.
As bad as it seems, cleaning up after yourself and your offspring is mere child’s play compared to cleaning a complete strangers’ grunge. Recently, a friend moved to Halifax and was taking up residence in an apartment. The sign outside the building said “ready for occupancy”. Unfortunately it did not contain the disclaimer that the preferred occupants would be recent hires of Molly Maid.
The young woman, about to attend law school, took one look at the filth left by the predecessors and was already pondering her first law suit. A small tear welled in the corner of her eye. She and her mother rolled up their sleeves and formed their own version of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. The place was rendered spotless with the help of Mr. Clean and a bottle of Yellowtail merlot.
I would like to be filthy rich some days. If I could just skip the filthy part.
Comments