Bitches

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During my junior year of college, I lived in my first college house. It was a six person home, and three out of the six were completely vile people. Let’s be more specific about what I mean when I say vile. There are multiple types of vile, truly.

Josh is vile because his bedroom is a mattress lying on the floor surrounded by garbage.

Joseph is vile because he leaves his food out all the time, and he won’t clean it up no matter how moldy it gets.

Eden is vile because she doesn’t understand what a trashcan is for, and she will simply put all of her trash on the ground.

Fortunately most of these vile things happened in their own respective bedrooms. There is one major exception to this, and that is the kitchen. The kitchen in this house had a very small counter space, and that counter space was entirely occupied with filth even within twenty-four hours of getting cleaned. Dishes piled up in the sink. The trash overflowed (probably not Eden’s doing). The floor got covered by a thin layer of crumbs.

Early into the school year, we decided to instate a kitchen cleaning system. We named it Kitchen Bitch. Each of the six members of the house were to take a four-day shift as the Bitch, and they would clean all of the kitchen until their shift ended. Six people, four-day shifts, so you’re the Bitch about three times every two months.

Some people don’t Bitch. This is unfortunate. Alison and Eden would not Bitch, because they were “never home”. This was an outright fabrication. They were home all the time, except for during their four-day shift. Then they don’t come home until late in the night.

I Bitched, and I Bitched very well. I Bitched perfectly fine. I hated Bitching, but I was one of the few thorough ones. Those four days meant a clean kitchen, and an angry me.

This went on for about four months. Eden boycotted Kitchen Bitch and refused to clean. No surprises there. Kitchen Bitch was uninitiated, coincidentally by bitching, and the house fell into a vile mess of chaos. At this point in time, the pile of dishes in the sink grew so large that it may have become its own self-aware life form. Those were dark days.

But the dark days were short, because the responsible people in the house decided to band together and create a new system. No more Bitching. Instead, everybody had their own job. Michelle cleans bathrooms, Eden cleans the living room, blah, blah, blah. My job was to empty the dishwasher. It was the only job that had to happen more than once a week, but it was quick and easy.

Here’s the catch: I didn’t have to take responsibility for the dishes in the sink. People were supposed to put their dishes straight into the dishwasher. And I was efficient. The dishwasher was either getting loaded, or it had been run and emptied. There was no excuse for leaving your dishes in the sink.

Plot twist. Dishes were in the sink.

This is when the interviewing/interrogating began. I spoke to each member of the house individually, asking what they had recently eaten, trying to correspond their meals to the grime on the plates and bowls, and for some insane reason, nothing was adding up. The dishes were coming from nowhere.

Maybe that self-aware life form was still living in the sink, growing and expanding, or somebody was lying to me. It honestly could have gone either way, but I kept interrogating.

I created a shopping list at this point. First, a DVR 600TVL High Resolution Security Camera System. Second, two crocodiles, to put in a pit. Third, a shovel, to dig the pit. Four, a taser, to insert people into the pit.

I never ended up buying any of these things. Turns out crocodiles are hard to find on eBay, and craigslist wasn’t being agreeable either.

Here’s another weird thing about the post-Bitch cleaning system: I was the only one doing their job. So I stopped doing my job. Chaos ensued. Self-aware life forms growing in the sink ensued. Flies and gnats ensued.

To this day, I’m not sure who it was that wasn’t doing their dishes, so I’m going to go ahead and guess that it was everybody except for me.

I moved out the house about two weeks later, and I never Bitched again. That house still has a funny smell, now irreparably infused in the kitchen walls.

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2 thoughts on “Bitches

  1. Anonymous

    The retribution is that no-one will ever want to live with them again and they will have to pay their
    rent all by themselves. sniff sniff….not!

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