99.9%

I’m the dirtiest clean freak you’ll ever meet.

Out of every part of my life that’s become mired with hypocrisy, this one is by far my favorite. There’s an old saying that your living space tells a lot about the type of person you are; I am no exception. The state of my room is a perfect reflection of who I am, the only difference between us being that I am a walking contradiction.

I didn’t start washing my hands seriously until I was 12. I wish that I could tell you that this Antibacterial Awakening was sparked by some huge event, but I honestly looked at my hands one day after giving them a brief scrub down and just decided that I wasn’t done. I never looked back, going from just a diligent handwasher to a full-on freak, never hesitating to wipe down my laptop, washing my hands frequently, and, in the process, becoming just INSUFFERABLE.

However, that’s only part of the story. Enter my college dorm and you’ll find a room locked in a heated battle between dirty and clean. Walk through the doorway and be greeted by a giant can of Febreeze next to a box of 2-day old pad thai. After all, who needs to throw out old food when you can just make it smell like Ocean Breeze? Next to the window sits a perfectly disinfected laptop alongside an apple core that’s become browner than I am. Open up my closet and you’ll find perfectly arranged clothes on the shelves, under which lie three trash bags filled to the brim with bags of what was once frozen broccoli, Stouffer’s fettuccine alfredo, and cinnamon Biscoff cookies. I would commit crimes for those damn cookies.

Every morning, I take the time to disinfect my door handles and my desk before munching on a granola bar on my bed. The trick is to make the crumbs as widespread as possible so that later that night it feels like you’re sleeping on a bed of gravel. In the space under my desk lies a forest of broccoli pieces dropped from meals past. I would try to get rid of them, but I’m afraid the Lorax might get mad at me.

The bathroom, however, is probably my magnum opus.

The shower and toilet stay relatively clean and live rich 99.9% bacteria-free lives, while the sink is really the rough side of town. Complete with smears of toothpaste, a hairbrush that is just dying for a vacation, and a razor that I’m not required to use quite as often as I’d like, it really is a picture of neglect. Oops! Almost forgot to mention that that floor’s a little wet! But hey, water evaporates, right?

Fortunately, the wonders of social distancing have spared me from the embarrassment of being a bad host to whatever poor soul would venture into my very confusing room. However, my actions have not been victimless. I cannot help but feel bad for the germs that try their best to carve out lives in the sometimes pleasant but sometimes very unforgiving environment that I create. Conversations amongst themselves must devolve into arguments very quickly.

“So we can go under the desk, but not in the bathroom?”

“Yes, but only half of the bathroom.”

“Which half?”

“I don’t know, The half that doesn’t have that stuff that can kill us all over it.”

“Ok...what about the closet?”

“Yeah, the closet should mostly be fine, but…”

“‘But’ what?”

“Well, sometimes he likes to spray the trash bags in there with this disinfectant spray for some reason.”

“WHY?!”

“Look, it doesn’t make sense to me either, don’t yell at me about it.”

“Ok...well, can I at least go anywhere on his nightstand?”

“Um...yeah you should be good there.”

“FINALLY.”

“Just steer clear of the giant bottle of hand sanitizer.”

“You’ve gotta be FUCKING KIDDING ME!”

In the end, I wish I could say that I want to change, but I don’t. This is who I am. And though I’ll be sure to briefly hide it when there’s a woman I want to impress or if my parents ever follow up on asking me for pictures of my room, everything will eventually slip back into its former state: a state I would never change.

After all, some may call it a mess, but I can’t say I’ve ever lost my keys.