Taed watches this show on A&E called Hoarders. It’s a curious program because it focuses exclusively on people whose houses are completely chaotic and unlivable. As we’ve watched, it seems that a true Hoarder is someone who has EMOTIONAL attachment to the stuff in the house. It’s weird to watch someone who can’t throw out a decades-old bill because they think it means they don’t love their mothers. Weird stuff like that.
Others, though, handle the clean-up phase rather well. These people apparently are just extreme slobs — people for whom cleaning up is just TOO MUCH WORK. So they simply drop their crap where ever and don’t ever pick up. I knew someone like this.
When I moved to CA to live with Taed, I met KK. She was a friend of his through a friend of his. He says they weren’t good friends. In retrospect I wonder if she didn’t have some sort of romantic desires towards Taed. As time grew on, KK and I would do things together. Once it was driving to South San Jose to pick up a desk for her apartment.
HER APARTMENT. OK, I should preface this with I ASKED if she had cleaned her apartment up so that we would have someplace to put said desk. Up to that point, her apartment door WOULD NOT OPEN because of all the fecal matter that was on the floor. Seriously. She wouldn’t even let me in to pee unless I was desperate. Needless to say, I was pretty shocked. I’m not the cleanest person, but I had NEVER seen anything like this.
I should have known… We got the desk boxes purchased, placed in the car, and back to her apartment. Yup, you guessed it. I couldn’t get them IN the damned door. OF COURSE I reminded her that she said she’d cleaned. She had. The actual square footage where she imaged this desk would go (by throwing all the crap into another pile! OY!). Somehow it didn’t dawn on her to clean the ACTUAL floorspace needed to lay out the desk to put it together or the space behind the door so the damned thing would open.
I do recall that she wanted me to stay to help put it together. I declined… Some weeks later, three of us got drafted to lift the thing. She allowed us in long enough to stand on the mound of crap and put the desk upright. I think that was the last time I was in her apartment before I gave up “being her friend”.
Eventually, she moved from the Bay Area. Since we had ceased to be friends, it saved me the agony of being drafted into helping her pack/move. Somehow I just picture some backhoe coming in, loading a dumpster, and her starting “fresh” somewhere else. It would have been the best plan…
Still, I live in morbid fascination that I will see her on the next episode of Hoarders.