A girl whose home I lived in shortly before moving back home (and a week later, unexectedly went on vacation here and havent been back). She was just… so… weird. The thing is, I paid board, but I was still her personal housekeeper, because she said so. I needed her for my rides to work, so I just bit my tongue and bore it. It got even worse when I quit my job - I was still paying board, since I still had an income from another source. But I became her absolute slave. “Since you’re not doing anything…” and she’d hand me a list. Look. Just because I’m not working doesn’t mean I’m doing nothing all day, I was seeking another job and looking into going back to school, making appointments with UI to discuss my options, etc.
Let me tell you. Every. Single. Day. She left a fresh list of chores to do - things I had just done the day before. The entire house had to be spotless, or she’d say I was no good at cleaning. Or, even better, that I had “no common sense”. I’m getting to why it’s the filthiest house I’ve ever been in.
She lives in a trailer - nothing wrong with that. But she has this gigantic Rottweiler, who should either have a much larger home to live in, or a proper fence/dog house and chain outside. I don’t like the idea of keeping a dog outside all the time, but she really shouldn’t have owned that dog. She should have given her to a family with proper space. She only took the dog home because the family she got it from was going to give her away to a new home, and she wanted to keep her. Certainly you can keep a dog in a trailer - but she couldn’t, because she had absolutely no room. Not for a big dog like that. And so…
Every day, I’d have to send the dog to her parents’ home, next door, and I swept black dog hair off of the white floors. Though I kept my door shut, it was still in my bedroom. And in the living room, the kitchen, the hallway, the bathroom, her room. It clumped up and was in plant pots, plants, it was stuck to dirty dishes, it was on the sofa. Everywhere. Everywhere. Then she would come home and bring the dog back in, and it would start all over. Like a nightmare that won’t end.
On top of that, for some reason, she would track mud from outside all over the house. Because I would clean it up. Filth, dirt, mud. And I mean sloppy, wet mud. It got to the point that even after I scrubbed her floors as clean as they could be, they still looked grubby, and faint mud streaks were stained into the floors. Beautiful.
Her home was stuffed to the gills with her precious “crystal”. She didn’t have normal eating plates, or glasses, they were ALL crystal. When Miss Rottweiler walked into her home, one wag of the tail often took out several crystal pieces. I would clean the glass. If something broke and it was her own fault, she’d mutter “Oh, well, i can just buy more when they go on sale.” If I, or my cat, broke something? “That was my good crystal! You’ll have to pay for that!” Which is fine. But then she would severely overcharge me. When I brought her her Princess House catelogue to show her what the real price was, she would say “Oh! It went way up since then. It’s worth twice that much at least.” (I’d double check with other PH reps - the price didn’t go up).
Once, when my cat (never her precious kitty) knocked over a potted plant (actually, we can’t prove that… and I am very suspicious, since the cat had slept with me that night, and I keep my door closed) she actually, honest to Og - left the shattered pot and the soil on the kitchen floor, and she went out for the day. Why did she just leave it? “So you would see what your cat did, and clean it up.” Hey. I understand. I’ll clean up after my own damned cat… but I’m not sure I would leave that nasty mess all over my kitchen floor for several hours until I was due to wake up (I had worked until 4:30am the night before, and didn’t wake up until around 11am - she was up at 6, ate her breakfast, took her shower, got dressed up, all while that mess was on the floor. I don’t know how she could stand it… but let’s go on…)
Speaking of cleaning up after our own animals… my cat loved to stay beside me, and hung out primarily in my bedroom. I had her litterbox in the bathroom at first, but every time she’d take a dump, I’d never hear the end of it. I cleaned that thing twice a day to shut her up, but it just didn’t work. So, fed up, I finally moved the litterbox to a corner of my room, and kept a window open. Not pleasant, but it shut the psycho up. She even commented on how much more pleasant her bathroom was without it. Get this: she let her own cat in for a night once. While we were sleeping, the poor cat had to go… and since the litterbox was not accessible to her anymore… she pooped in the bathtub. I woke up the next morning, psycho had taken off, and left me this note: Clean the shit out of the tub.
when she made a “snack”, honest to Og. Every pan she owned. A snack to her? Fried steak. With onions and cabbage and peppers and mayo. Og forbid if she ever made dinner. However, she often ordered me to cook. Why? Since I was the better cook. I used up as little space and as few pots or pans as possible, and she’s ask me how I ever did it. Fear of the dishes, said I.
The dishes. I had one bowl, one fork, and one glass, that I used over and over, washing between uses by hand. Because it was too hard to keep up with her dirty dishes, let alone my own.
I was the only person who did laundry. Og forbid if I folded the towels “wrong”.
Why do I say she had the dirtiest house I’ve ever seen? Let’s sum up:
Every single day, I cleaned the filth she left behind. Her floors, windows, dishes, laundry, furniture, toilet, tub, sinks, mirrors, more dishes, her bedroom, the walls (which somehow got filthy) the shit she spilled in the fridge, the oven had to be cleaned often because of her snacks or “quick dinners” (~sigh), the dog had to be bathed often because it got filthy quickly, water the half a million plants she kept (that she couldn’t look after on her own). This all had to be done - every. single. day. Not to mention taking care of my own personal duties, keeping my own room neat, tending to my cat and her messes and litterbox, etc.
When I moved out, I came back a week later to pick some things up I’d left behind. You couldn’t see the floor. Anywhere. There was junk piled everywhere. There were dishes piled high in filthy, cold water in the sink. Everything stunk. Whatever I touched felt weird and sticky. The dog had crusty sores around her eyes. Half-eaten bowls of crap were left everywhere. There were three garbage bags that hadn’t been taken out, and had those big, black houseflies buzzing around them. I got my things and I bolted, nearly puking. I haven’t spoken to her since.
I apologise for rambling quite a bit - this post doubles as a mild rant that I haven’t been able to get off of my chest since it happened. I haven’t said too much to friends and relatives about it, so I wouldn’t seem like I just complained all the time. Finally, I get some release! She was a filthy, psycho, thieving, bragging, inconsiderate, unappreciative, mean person! And she has the filthiest house I’ve ever seen, because she has no one to boss around to clean it for her! puke!
Erg.
