…people who are pissed off about clutter kill people who clutter.
Have you seen Season 2 Episode 5 of the once-popular crime drama, CSI? I’m going from memory so I might be paraphrasing a little here, but it goes a little something like this:
Grissom finds the killer’s wife stuffed into a water heater in the basement. He asks him, “Why?”
The killer responds in a defeated tone, “She nagged me.”
“She nagged you?”
Now, replace “she nagged me” with “she left clutter”. If you assume “she left clutter” to mean, “she left clutter all over the house, even though I repeatedly begged her not to” then you’ve got a people killing people over clutter situation. Now you understand my predicament.
Fast forward to my jail cell.
“So, what’re you in for?”
“Killed my wife.”
“Caught her cheating?”
“No, caught her cluttering.”
Don’t worry. She’s not in danger. She’s going through a “Jennifer Lopez’s 2002 movie, ‘Enough'”, phase right now. She’s getting up early every morning to “work those abs” to fitness videos. Really, she’s pumping iron and learning to kick ass so she can entrap me in some kind of clutter-induced “murder my husband in self-defence” scheme. Who will perish, the clutterer or the cluteree?
Time will tell.
In the meantime, It’s rant time. Mo’ clutter mo’ problems. I’ve got 99 problems and…
- Things Get Lost – I didn’t really lose any of my stuff for a decade. That’s because my things had a place and clutter had no place. That was before the clutterer and I started occupying a domicile together. She has a key fob attached to her keys that wirelessly locates her phone and an app on her phone that wirelessly locates her keys. She uses them daily. My phone is in the phone place and my keys are in the key place. End of story.
- Tasks Don’t Flow – You know when a surgeon is about to do surgery and she has everything that she needs on a stainless steel tray? Or how a mechanic has all of his sockets in order by size, and none are missing? Good luck achieving that kind of order around here. Here, clutter is King. Every little task is made more frustrating, from opening a package (where are my scissors?) to taking the dog for a walk (where the fuck is the fucking dog leash? FAWK!!!)
- It’s Not Harmonious – Looking around at all the bits and pieces of junk mail, socks on the floor, hair elastics, and the like makes me feel like I’m in the feces-splattered bathroom at Burger King. It’s fucking gross.
Look at any industry where safety is paramount. No clutter. Or at least there shouldn’t be.
Look at any industry where the participants are at the top of their game and you will be unlikely to find clutter. Why? Because it doesn’t contribute anything. It detracts.
Hopefully, my partner and I can get through this with lots of therapy, since common sense is not working. I would hate to fall victim to more domestic abuse (see Domestic Crimes).
The truth? If you consider clutter as heinous as I do, then you will know it is already too late.