Rowhouse Ghosts
I can never get the kitchen floor clean. It is a tiny space, maybe less than 50 square feet, but the level of grime it accrues is equivalent to that of a concert hall. Tiny shards of glass escape continually from underneath the oven, as though the Borrowers are having hundreds of raucous dinner parties under there, throwing the wine glasses on the floor over and over as I scramble to sweep them up. The space under the refrigerator is a similar story: raspberries come rolling out by the bushel as I take the yellow broom aggressively across the tiles. My bare feet pick up some of the detritus, but I manage to get most of it into the dustpan and into the garbage.
Though frustrating, this part is not the issue. The problem arises as I consider how to mop the floor. We have two sponge mops, a Swiffer Wetjet, and a dry Swiffer. We also have hands and knees (mine). Using the sponge mops means chancing the probably-dirty sponges already attached to them and dirtying the newly-cleaned sink to wet them. We never have the right Swiffer mop pads, and even when we do, the pads barely collect a fifth of the dirt on the floor. Even on hands and knees, I can't get the floor clean. I use lots of hot water, soap, any chemicals I can find. I use sponges and paper towels and microfiber cloths. I get my legs covered in mud. I keep wiping and wiping, but the cloths keep coming back dirty.
Down on the ground, I can tell our floor stinks. It smells like old fish and also like diarrhea. I use white vinegar and disinfectant spray and water. It seems a permanent scent. Somehow, the floor keeps producing dirt. It is as though the dirt rises up from underneath the tiles, from the foundation of this 1875 rowhouse. It is like a haunting--the ghosts in my house don't force blood out from within the walls or slime us with some ectoplasmic goo. Instead, they push dirt through the grout into our kitchen, laughing as they watch me scrub and scrub.
The main issue here is that no one else in my house seems concerned about the uncleanliness. I have never seen either roommate with a mop, and when I first moved in and asked about floor cleaner, they regarded me with a vague suspicion. As I try and fail repeatedly to clean our house, I leave no trace of my efforts. The ever-replenishing floor dirt refuses to betray my attempts at housekeeping. For all my roommates know, I am the floor ghost, throwing mud into the kitchen in handfuls. Either way, they don't really care. If there is a floor ghost, so be it, says my roommates. We will live with blackened bare feet and with pieces of gold foil stuck to the floor. We are renters. It's not really our problem! Maybe some new ghost will come along and figure out that Swiffer Wetjet. Maybe it will be me.
Though frustrating, this part is not the issue. The problem arises as I consider how to mop the floor. We have two sponge mops, a Swiffer Wetjet, and a dry Swiffer. We also have hands and knees (mine). Using the sponge mops means chancing the probably-dirty sponges already attached to them and dirtying the newly-cleaned sink to wet them. We never have the right Swiffer mop pads, and even when we do, the pads barely collect a fifth of the dirt on the floor. Even on hands and knees, I can't get the floor clean. I use lots of hot water, soap, any chemicals I can find. I use sponges and paper towels and microfiber cloths. I get my legs covered in mud. I keep wiping and wiping, but the cloths keep coming back dirty.
Down on the ground, I can tell our floor stinks. It smells like old fish and also like diarrhea. I use white vinegar and disinfectant spray and water. It seems a permanent scent. Somehow, the floor keeps producing dirt. It is as though the dirt rises up from underneath the tiles, from the foundation of this 1875 rowhouse. It is like a haunting--the ghosts in my house don't force blood out from within the walls or slime us with some ectoplasmic goo. Instead, they push dirt through the grout into our kitchen, laughing as they watch me scrub and scrub.
The main issue here is that no one else in my house seems concerned about the uncleanliness. I have never seen either roommate with a mop, and when I first moved in and asked about floor cleaner, they regarded me with a vague suspicion. As I try and fail repeatedly to clean our house, I leave no trace of my efforts. The ever-replenishing floor dirt refuses to betray my attempts at housekeeping. For all my roommates know, I am the floor ghost, throwing mud into the kitchen in handfuls. Either way, they don't really care. If there is a floor ghost, so be it, says my roommates. We will live with blackened bare feet and with pieces of gold foil stuck to the floor. We are renters. It's not really our problem! Maybe some new ghost will come along and figure out that Swiffer Wetjet. Maybe it will be me.