You’re Kinda Filthy

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
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HoarderRide the subway, log onto Facebook, or open your eyes in New York City and you’re bound to be attacked with a Handybook advertisement. A company offering many services, one of which is house cleaning.

People coming into my apartment, my personal space, is one thing. Friends and family are welcome, but strangers make chills ripple up my spine. A tad compulsive and incredibly controlling, the idea of someone being alone in the apartment, touching every and anything drives me mad. Add to this, I like a clean apartment, but feel that I can never get certain things, such as the kitchen and bathroom, clean enough. Ignoring the voice in my head who consistently worries about all and anything, I booked the appointment and stressed each day until it was time.

The pro arrived at the scheduled time, cleaning tools in hand and ready to get down to business. I asked if she needed anything from me before leaving her to it and heading out for a happy hour rendezvous. Two and a half hours later I received a text message to confirm everything was set and the pro was done.

Arriving home later in the evening it was a pleasant surprise to find stains off the stove and a spotless tub. Two things that consistently give me issues when trying to scrub. Of course, things were moved around on places like my desk, but nothing a normal person would notice. What my pro didn’t know is I actually set a few dirt traps around the apartment to see the depth of service. All but one of my traps was clean and I can’t blame her for missing the one. It’s high up in an obscure spot no one in their right mind would clean.

I’ll keep my appointment for two weeks from now, though I may downgrade to a month or bi-monthly cleaning as I really just like the added shine brought on by the pro.