I was sitting on the balcony today watching the beautiful sunset above when I saw two pigeons grooming themselves on the roof top. And I thought—how amazing. Even an animal that is, in my mind, one of the dirtiest creatures alive (vermin of the skies as I like to put it), takes the time to clean itself.

This sentiment was immediately contrasted with the shoeboxed team. Maybe it’s because we are so dedicated to the project that we disregard the normal hygienic process, but we are a dirty bunch. And it is not altogether our fault. I still haven’t unpacked. Our make-shift lounge has seen better days. We only have one bathroom for seven people. And our kitchen…oh god. Microwaves and dishwashers are not a common household item here, so that means that whenever we want to eat, we have to prepare a meal from scratch or at least put something in the oven. And even though we have a fridge to keep leftovers, there is no way to heat them up later. But who am I kidding…there are no leftovers—EVER.

In case you haven’t noticed, I live in a house of all guys except for Alex who has been here longer than I have and has already given up on trying to keep things clean. But this is totally new territory for me. My brother back home is very quiet, clean, and eats very small portions. But our guys here are food fiends. There never seems to be enough sustenance in the apartment, and god forbid anyone wash a dish…

I hate feeling like I’m constantly nagging them, but never in my life have I felt SO much like my mother. Put the seat down. Clear and wash your own plate. Wipe the bath when you’re finished. Trash goes in trash bags. I’m sure my mom is just about dying right now at the thought of me being the keeper of cleanliness and domesticity. My respect for her is now off the charts.

This week’s featured team member: Tim. Tim is a very well-kept looking guy…until you look at his feet and those things under them that he calls shoes. They are a problem. They are filthy. They are falling apart. As you see in his picture, he might as well not even wear shoes, because his once tan colored flip-flops are now blackened beasts that look as though a pack of wolves gnawed on them. I am gagging just imagining them. Several people have offered him a new pair, including me, hoping that he might finally side with sanity… But Tim is content with walking around in his shameful shoes that sustain the perpetual layer of soot on his soles which by now are darker than me, which is saying a lot.

Basically everybody in the house needs to go to messy-people rehab.

 Subscribe to RSS Feed | or, Receive Updates via Email

This entry was posted on Saturday, June 16th, 2007 at 2:50 pm and is filed under Shoeboxed Apartment. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.