Madly and haphazardly.

I had a rental inspection today. This meant that for the last few days I’ve been madly and haphazardly cleaning my flat. The flat looks pretty good all things considered. I mean, the carpet is clearly both older and more worn than I am, I reckon it could give me ten years, the ceiling is knobbly grey cementy stuff, and the paint was obviously applied by an amateur with an unexpected fondness for the crackle effect. Otherwise, the cheap and shoddy tiles and fixtures can be made to look reasonable. In short, despite how one may try not even the most OCD of OCD types could make this place proclaim ‘an OCD person lives here’. In shorter, I think it’s impossible to make this place look really good. All I managed was to make it look cleanish and to do something nasty to my sinuses with the mould remover.
The inspectoress was manicured, made-up, and dressed to impress in the way of those whose income is dependant on encouraging people to rent rather shitty places for enormous sums. I am wearing jeans, an old but warm shirt, and purple slippers with stuffed pink cats on them. I felt every inch of those stuffed pink cats as she looked me up and down and relegated me to her dole-bludger box. I’ve often noticed that people who have only ever worked day jobs don’t quite understand the concept of shift workers. I thought I was doing quite well given that I would, normally, still have been asleep at 10am. She walked in, took one look at me, and sneered an introduction. I curtly replied and told her to feel free to wander about. I went back to the couch, the tv, and a lovely cup of tea. She went to the kitchen with her important little clipboard and looked for whatever she was looking for. She wandered back into the living room ad we had the most marvellous of conversations. Said she, ‘Those are unusual marks on the ceiling. What are they?’ Said me, ‘Yes, they are. I’ve no idea what made them, they were here when I moved in.’ Said she, ‘I’ll just put down that there are unusual marks on the ceiling.’ Said me, ‘Uh huh.’ It occurs to me that they obviously come into houses blind, that is, without a history to compare with. I wonder if she always walks into places and expects the perfection of a shiny new abode rather than the degenerated old-whore-ness of a long term rental.
As she stomped about my flat (very lady-like stomping, people who can walk nicely ought not to wear high heels) I realised that she’d been the one I’d heard stomping about downstairs. She must have been doing the whole block. I was probably the only one at home. I was probably the only person to give her attitude as well. I don’t like inspections, especially from this group of realtors. After my last inspection with them they put my rent up. They put it up quite a lot. I’ll be fucked if they do that again. I bet I failed my inspection. Oh well.

Also, I went to post this and blogger was having a d&c. What’s with that?