Mession Impossible

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For a long time, I was living under the delusion that I was , if not a neatness freak, at least intolerant of living in dumpsters. But looking at the mess I leave behind in every room I could lay my hands on, I have to face the ugly truth… Even when I wrote Movers and Rakers and Junkyard Woes, I had built an impenetrable fortress of self serving excuses. Excuses that any decent lawyer could drill through as easily as a chain iron through butter.

Lawyer: “Is it true, Mr. Hamish, that you submitted a lack of time as the reason for not cleaning up your last place of residence?”

Me: “Umm…. Yeah…”

L: “Well, what kept you busy?”

Me: “I’m a working guy. I have office work to attend to. You know how it is…”

L: “No, sir. I do not know. I understand your work gets over by 6. Is that not true?”

Me: “No. No! I mean… depending on the workload, I may have to stay back late… that takes up a lot of time… and that also…”

L: “How often do you have to do that?”

Me: “It’s hard to say… It depends… I can’t put a number on it.”

L: “Try. In a week, how many days do you get home before 2000 hours? “

Me: “Huh?”

L: “8 P.M.”

Me: “Hmm… hard to say… “

L: “Would you say more than twice a week?”

Me: “Hey, it’s not that simple. Of course there are times when I get back home early, but I need my rest. After a long and tiring day, you can hardly expect me to…”

L: “Well, Mr. Hamish… What sort of tiring job do you do on a regular basis?”

Me: “I’m a…. I’m… I’m a market researcher. I do research stuff… I research the… the… you know… the market and all… I… I… Awwwwkkkk!!” <clutches chest, rolls eyes, drops to the ground and fakes attack in a boldly planned strategic move>

I KNEW I’d crumble. I hid behind excuses of workload, and minor illnesses. I kept fooling myself with promises…. promises that I would take care of my next place better.

And here I am. Day 31 in my new place, and already my room is lined with assorted junk that would put the Addams family to shame. This time around, I refuse to be fooled by my mishmash of piled up lies. Just let me try to pull a fast one over me. This time, I’m ready!

Me: “Hey, man. I know it’s a mess. I didn’t mean to dilly dally around this.”

Myself: <sarcastically> “Oh, you didn’t, did you?”

Me: “No, I… Hey, what’s with the attitude? What’s your problem?”

Myself: “You know DAMN WELL what the problem is! How could you let this happen? Now what’s your plan, bigshot? You want to move AGAIN??”

Me: “Whoa. I SAID I’ll clean up, didn’t I?”

Myself: “Oh, sure. That’s gonna solve it. You pea-brained nincompoop, that’s what you said the LAST TIME. You can’t go on like this. You have to roll up your sleeve and get into it. DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU PROCRASTINATING PILE OF GARBAGE-LOVING RETARD???”

Me: “Hey, I do NOT need to take that shit from you. I’m leaving.”


Me: “I’m going out for a while… get away from this stupid argument.”

Myself: “Oh, oh, oh?? Now this argument is STUPID, IS IT?? You’re gonna leave your room like a pigsty and go out doing… WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO DO ANYWAY?”

Me: “I’m going to go have some beer.”

Myself: “OH, REALLY?”

Me: “Yeah, really!”

Myself: “Why didn’t you say so? Get me a bottle as well.”

DAMMIT!! Never trust me in an argument with myself. I’d cave in… any day.

But you know what… I’m not overly perturbed. Because I know… It’s not just me… It’s everybody. Everybody is a litterbug at heart…. Well, ok… every GUY. Girls tend to have a pre-conditioned temperance towards a tidy atmosphere. In fact, if they saw a room like mine, they’d faint with a vengeance… But guys have roughly the same tolerance towards piled up mess as a junkyard tractor. Back in college, I knew guys who almost literally had to shovel a path to their beds on a nightly basis.

Sometimes, it's easier - AND safer - to just sleep on the shovel.Wikipedia Commons

Sometimes, it’s easier – AND safer – to just sleep on the shovel.

It is an ingrained trait, a characteristic as old as man himself. Our prehistoric ancestor, Moog from Oog, would leave charcoal scrapings lying on the floor after he etched pictures of his day on the cave-wall, embellishing the bit about his fight with the mastodon by omitting to note that it was already dead when he got there. Mrs. Moog, on seeing the scrapings, would have another fight with Moog, which was particularly difficult then, because neither of them knew English…

Mrs. Moog: <Pointing at the scrapings on the floor> “Moog!! Brab frag rbar span BAM!”

Moog: “Arb barb argarbarb… Sbar Kapar Minpl…”

Mrs: <takes wooden club in hand> “MOOG!! MARG SPINKTE STEARB FALK BLEGH!!”

M: “Err… Ernepa… Err..”


M: “Err…”


M: “Err… Awwwwkkkk!!”<clutches chest, rolls eyes, drops to the ground and fakes attack in a boldly planned strategic move>

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9 Responses

  1. dj says:

    Haha.. hilarious! “clutches chest, rolls eyes, drops to the ground and fakes attack in a boldly planned strategic move”

  2. Arun Jose says:

    “Why didn’t you say so? Get me a bottle as well.” 🙂

  3. Dear garbage loving Nincompoop..

    😀 sorry couldn’t resist. Loved the header.. Mess-ion.. hehe! Same pinch! I’m messy too but not dirty. What’s the difference you ask? The difference is between finding pizza underneath your bedcovers and finding books. 😀

  4. hammy says:

    @dj & arun:
    Thanks. 🙂

    @macadamia the nut:
    Hey, i’m not dirty either; just messy… I’ve never found pizza undernea… oh… wait… there was that one time when… hmm… dammit.

  5. Binny V A says:

    Unlike you, I have a reason for my procrastinating ways. I have a medical condition – called lazyness

  6. amooma says:

    The comments this time from maca, binny… well… see what u could become if u could just improve. and r u sure u haven’t installed a wife in ur flat? cause the argument with yourself sounds awfully lie an argument with a wife, except for the last beer part.

  7. hammy says:


    r u sure u haven’t installed a wife in ur flat?

    I’m pretty sure I would have remembered. Even if I somehow got hitched after four to five bottles of unadulterated vodka, thereby forgetting all, I would have found the poor lady in question somewhere around the house. Or else I’ve married the world champion in hide ‘n seek. Hmm… Needs thinking about.

  8. amooma says:

    Must be the world champion coz ur ‘Myself’ sounds like a nagging wife!

  1. September 5, 2015

    […] point is – back then, there was no confusion there. Neat and tidy were concepts of idealism that rarely ever broke into the real world except when visiting other people’s homes. There were […]

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