We have fake wood floors on the entire lower level. When we originally moved into this place, we were under the impression that they were supposed to mimic a darker wood, like cherry or walnut. When we looked at the unit, it was clear that the previous occupants picked up and left in a hurry, because the place was filthy. Kitty litter scattered in one of the bathrooms, cereal swept under the fridge, and a weird white substance splattered all over all of the cabinets, and yellow drip marks on the walls. The housing lady said she’d have maintenance and a cleaning crew come in to fix the broken crap, and clean up the mess.
As far as I could tell, they put a screen back into one of the windows, and that was it. I didn’t care. I was tired and I needed a place to sleep. I didn’t care until my socks started turning black from walking around without shoes on. I doubt the people who lived here before us mopped once. I’ve been here for almost two years, and after it took me three washes with a bucket and a mop to remove the thick black film, I’ve only mopped a few times, and it’s still a lighter pine color. Not dirt walnut. People are nasty.
Manchild requested that I set money aside so he can save up to buy a road bike. Any of the other four bikes we have just won’t do. Since he asked, and seemed to understand the idea of saving up to buy, rather than spending the money that’s supposed to go toward something important like food, tuition, insurance, or rent, I decided to humor him. I was actually quite proud of him for talking to me about it. Perhaps it’s starting to sink in that he’s effectively fucking his future due to his need for instant gratification?
Until three days later, today, I got a text message from him saying he yoinked $300 out of checking because he found a bike on Craigslist that he “hopes is the one”. Groan. I can’t say I didn’t see it coming and I suppose it could have been worse. It could have been an $800 bike. Even so, that wasn’t the agreement. My consolation was a bottle of gewurztraminer, as the exchange was done at Total Wine (only my favorite store in the known Universe!!!). He didn’t have car trouble, and he didn’t end up in a bathtub full of ice, so whoody-hoo.
Instead of putting the bike in the garage and working on it there, because it’s literally overflowing with all of his junk, he brought it into the house and plopped it down wheels up right in the middle of the path between the living room and the dining area. No biggie. He’ll move it when he’s done. The problem is that he cleaned the chain, sprockets, and the areas of the frame that were missing paint with motorkote spray, which is basically fancy WD40. Motorkote is also the same shit that caused a banjo bolt to clog and blew the turbo in our outback xt. Word to the wise: don’t use motorkote in turbo-charged engines.
So, the whole 6′ x 6′ patch that a person needs to traverse in order to get into the kitchen is now an oil slick.
“Uh, dude? Can you clean that shit up so I don’t kill myself later?”
“I already wiped it up with a rag.”
“Did you use the rag that you were rubbing oil all over your bike with?”
Wow, way to use those marbles you’ve got knocking around in your cavernous skull.
He thought for a minute, then asked me where the swiffer is. Not only did he clean up his deathtrap, but he also ‘mopped’ the entire dining room AND kitchen and it only cost me $300. What a deal!