The Apartment of Inefficiency

This is a story of the Apartment of Inefficiency and its Cross-Contamination Fridge.

The Apartment of Inefficiency is a place where time and energy have little value, where nothing seems to produce the intended or desired effect. In said apartment, you’ll find the Cross-Contamination Fridge, among many other useless objects. Quite ironically, the owner of the Apartment of Inefficiency is known by people as “the Food Police”. He’s the one in charge, the one who decides what happens, how it happens, and to what level of inefficiency. His home he shares with his companion: The Never Hungry, Always Tired.

Now, let me tell you a bit about this Apartment of Inefficiency, based on my very own experiences. You see, oddly enough, family members of the Food Police and Never Hungry, Always Tired regularly visit this notorious flat. What’s more, they not only visit, they stay over for several days — even weeks — in a row. Why exactly this is, remains a mystery to me up to this day. Nonetheless, I think my stories of what happens in these living quarters are worth telling about.

The Apartment of Inefficiency comprises of a long, dark, and cluttered hallway, leading to six different, equally cluttered rooms. At the end of the hallway, there’s a strange, unhinged door. But what’s behind that door, we’ll save for later.

Inside the Apartment of Inefficiency, “gross inefficiency” takes on a whole different meaning. Whereas “inefficiency” stays the same, “gross” is the one that differs from its original meaning. No longer does it entail “serious”, instead it takes on the form of “appalling”, “nauseating”, “unpleasant” or “disgusting”, to name a few. There’s a distinctive smell that meets you as you enter through the front door. This smell can be found in every single room, though I’d say the “fragrance” is a bit different per living quarter. For me personally, the odor never fails to remove my appetite — instantly.

Now, since the level of inefficiency is so blatant in this flabby flat, and because it comes in so many shapes and forms, it’s hard to know where to start to describe it. But as the residents of the Apartment of Inefficiency are called Food Police and Never Hungry, Always Tired, perhaps we can start in the kitchen. As you approach the kitchen, you’ll pass by crates filled with oranges, apples, walnuts, and similar produce. It can be hard to enter and move around: Due to many objects, the front door never opens completely. However, once you’ve managed to make your way to the next door (on your right hand), you’ll find yourself entering the kitchen.

Again, don’t expect the kitchen door to open entirely; you won’t succeed, no matter if you try. In the kitchen, we’ll meet the aforementioned Cross-Contamination Fridge. This fridge is notorious throughout the family of Food Police. Why? Well, the name might give something away. Were you ever to consider eating food from that fridge, I would recommend that you keep your Imodium at hand. The noise of this useless object might be one of the first things you notice. Would you dare to open it, a paper bag might not be an unnecessary luxury either.

You see, for a home with only two residents, the fridge seems surprisingly full. Surprisingly, when you think of Never Hungry, Always Tired; anything BUT surprisingly, when you know Mr. Food Police personally. The owner of the Apartment of Inefficiency has one goal and one goal only: Patrolling his flat to ensure his companion and his regular visitors eat. And when I say eat, I mean EAT. The food cop closely monitors how much people eat, how many times they eat, at which time they do so, and — most importantly — whether they give him the recognition that he craves for the meals he prepares.

Now, dear reader, I don’t know if you’re familiar with the movie “Beauty and the Beast”, in particular the scene where they sing the song “Be Our Guest” and show off their banquet of food to their guest. Keep this image in mind as you continue reading this story. Those familiar with the characters Lumière and Cogsworth, from the same movie, will also have a better image of Food Police and Never Hungry, Always Tired: The former being Lumière, the latter Cogsworth. Would you ever visit the Apartment of Inefficiency, I’m quite convinced you’d feel like Belle — I do anyway, whenever I’m a guest at the flabby flat.

(For those who don’t know or would like their memories refreshed):

To clarify: Certainly do not expect to find a grand dining table in a grand dining hall, with clean shiny floors. When I said that the scene of Beauty and the Beast paints a good picture, I meant solely because of the quantity of food, the obsessive manner of “welcoming” and treating the guest, and the somewhat proud attitude of the host (and oblivious yet indignant character of the hostess).

Instead, prepare yourself mentally with the following image: A tiny — yet sturdy — table with tiny stools, a tiny kitchen, and sticky, mucky floors. Furthermore, expect a leaking tap, an especially strong odor coming from the sink, right next to where you’ll be dining, and the company of pigeons beside you in the window sill. Don’t be surprised if — during your meal — Mr. Food Police comes with a large stick, waving past your head, to scare away the pigeons that he feeds at set times daily.

What else gives this room the title of “Kitchen of Inefficiency”? Well, for one, after washing dishes, an unclogger sits ready to unclog the sink from all the food rests. And if for some reason you wish to use the microwave or toaster, remember to flip the switch on two — not one — extension cords first. Beware: The flipping of the switches needs to be done in the right order!

I could go on about the Kitchen of Inefficiency but we still have five other rooms to go, plus the mysterious unhinged door at the end of the hallway. So, I’m afraid we’ll have to leave it at that.

Let’s say at some point during your visit you need to use the bathroom. How would you go about that? Well… shocker: Don’t try to open the door completely as you enter. Do please put a peg on your nose if you’re sensitive to strong smells. What you find behind the door of the Bathroom of Inefficiency, is a sight for itself! I don’t know what I find best: The countless towels hanging around that always make you wonder which one to use (hint: better to avoid all of them). Or perhaps the numerous used tooth- and hairbrushes from daughters who moved out thirty years ago.

If you find yourself in the situation where you must use that spattered toilet, I have bad news for you: It’s at the back of the room. Be careful not to drop anything as you try to reach your dreaded destination — it’s happened to me various times. By “drop anything” I mean the many useless objects cluttered around — and nothing more than that.

One thing I find especially amazing in the Bathroom of Inefficiency is the storage rack that’s hanging above the toilet. It consists of three compartments: The bottom two are filled with garbage that no one ever uses, the top one contains new toilet paper. If that’s not efficiency, then I don’t know what is.

If you manage to survive your visit to the spotted toilet next to the similarly spotted walls, you’re not there yet! Then comes the sink with the slippery, slimy block of soap. I don’t know what’s worse though: The slimy soap block, or coming so close to the used toothbrushes and much other mucky clutter in front of the splattered mirror. Regardless, if you’ve managed to wash your hands, congratulations! You’ve made it to the next level. And remember: Avoid. Towels.

So, your meal is done, you’ve relieved yourself: Time to rest a bit in the living room, right? I promise you, by now you’ll be craving for rest. After the loud TV in the kitchen and the nervous micromanaging by the Food Police, you’d like to sit down on a comfy sofa while having a relaxing conversation. You’ll need that peaceful environment to digest the heavy, overly big meal you’ve just been forced-fed. Well… think again. Not gonna happen. Not if it’s up to Mr. Food Cop and Never Hungry, Always Tired.

At least making your way from the bathroom to the Living Room of Inefficiency is easy. Just turn right after the basket full of Alimerka tea, bags of sugar and flour, and hazelnuts. And I think of all doors, this one opens most; not fully, but you cannot have it all. If you thought you could escape the noisy TV in the kitchen, let me tell you that the one in the living room is bigger and noisier. My favourite part about the Living Room of Inefficiency, though, is the sofa. The countless cushions, blankets, and knitted unidentifiable objects kinda make it look like a booby trap. “Where on this sofa do I sit down?”, you ask yourself with your tired head.

Advice from an expert: It doesn’t matter. Just pick a spot. All are gonna be equally uncomfortable and strange. Just keep in mind that there’s a high chance of finding pins and needles as you “make yourself comfortable”. But hey, at least there are tiny stools on which you could rest your tired legs, should you be interested! And if you need distraction then the TV is there at your service. What do you say, dear reader, does this deserve the title of “Living Room of Inefficiency”?

Of course, alternatively, you could go for a siesta in the guest bedroom instead. There’s a TV there but it’s never on (= useless object number x). It’s one of the more quiet rooms in the Apartment of Inefficiency, though it doesn’t always smell “pleasant”. There’s also a high likelihood of causing an avalanche of useless objects tumbling down on the sticky floor, as you try to make your way to the bed. But if you think you can handle all of that: Just turn left as you exit the living room and enter through the last door on your right (not the front door, we’re not done yet).

Well, dear reader, I have to confess something: The door of the Guest Room of Inefficiency is actually the door that opens most. There are NO objects behind it — but only because it’s physically impossible. If you’ll be able to rest, I’m not sure, with so many objects to observe. And if that doesn’t bother you, perhaps the mucky, dusty air will. Regardless, the bed could be quite comfortable, if it weren’t for the inefficient layers of sheets and blankets that somehow never want to stay in place. Or, the countless pillows and stuffed monkey — yes, monkey — at the head of the bed.

If you do manage to have a siesta: Congratulations! You’ve become quite the expert. Now only the three doors at the end of the hallway remain. I know, I know; there’s the mysterious, unhinged door. But we’ll save that for last. There are two doors on either side of the Unhinged Door of Inefficiency: One leads to the bedroom of Food Police, the other one to that of Never Hungry, Always Tired. To be honest, I don’t know much about these rooms. What I do know is that I find it highly inefficient that the residents of the flabby flat chose to each occupy one entire room. But hey, in their defence: Why would you have two guest rooms if you already have a mucky, smelly sofa bed in your inefficient living room?

What I find especially interesting, is the fact that Mr. Food Cop does not have a TV in his room. How that came about, I still have to find out. Of course, Never Hungry, Always Tired does have a TV — and yes, it’s almost always on. Other than that, you can expect a huge collection of more useless objects behind those two doors.

Speaking of a huge collection of useless objects, however, we’ve made it: The last inefficient door! But this is the only one that opens towards you (beware!). So, what is behind this mysterious unhinged door that we’ve saved until last? Well — eager reader — perhaps it’s a bit underwhelming, but: It’s a storage room!

In my defence, the Storage Room of Inefficiency certainly deserves its title and is quite a sight to see. Who knows, maybe there’s some hidden treasure to be found there, covered under heaps of useless objects — I have yet to find out. So far, I’ve only gotten Tupperwares from there — but hey! At last some useful objects, right? Should you ever venture to make use of the storage room, here’s a last reminder: Beware of the avalanches of useless objects tumbling down!

So, what say you, dear reader? Is the Apartment of Inefficiency worth a visit? Personally, I’d say heck yes! But I’ll let you decide that for yourself ;) Let’s see it this way: If you want to know how not to approach efficiency: This is the perfect place to learn it.