Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.) (lantichristo) wrote,
Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.)

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The Rag

My morning, this morning, was like an episode from the radio show Suspense from the 40s


So, today the entire block was being under plumber invasion.

A plumbing company came to do a maintenance cleaning to all our water pipes. Suck out all the hair and other disgusting crap I don’t feel like mentioning. Yes this is a good thing. But, they came into my home with their SHOES on. Their filthy shoes on. They walked on my beautiful floor, leaving black - no I am NOT exaggerating - yes BLACK footsteps behind them. But not any ordinary black-dirt footsteps, oh no, no sir ree bob!  But-but-but … there was a goo you see, a black thick jellylike goo. Small pieces, small little balls of black, filthy, jellylike goo. Some - I swear to you - some had little hair sticking out.

Stomach spasms hit me hard.

One dude was in my kitchen and one in my bathroom …

Where oh where does one throw up?

So early in the morning … so much dirt, so much filth … and the smell … oh the smell my Lord.

In MY home, in MY beautiful home; Smelly men with their filthy shoes on walking on my beautiful floor.


Everything they touched, but everything, got their fingerprints on. In the shape and form of this black, thick, shiny, jellylike, filthy, gooey muck! In the end, one of them started “cleaning” I said: “Lord no, what in the name of god’s green earth are you doing? No, you don’t need to do that, thank you thank you, no, no, thank you , please, I will do it myself, no please you don’t have to ….” The man wouldn’t listen … “But I have to clean a little bit here so you won’t feel we invaded your home and left it dirty, yeah? … we don’t want to disturb you miss …” And he was saying this while he was “cleaning” with a “cleaning product” that smelled … well it smelled NOTHING, nothing at all, because it was probably water or water with an idea of something that might clean ashes but not that muck. Not that mucky muck. No.

And wait-wait …. No, it was not the shoes, or the smell, or the “fake” cleaning product that hit the spot … no-no-no …. It was the rag. (and on the word rag we need a loud, ferocious sound-effect with a high pitch squealing finish) He was using a rag to “clean up” … this rag was perhaps, sometime ago, some color … maybe blue? Heavens know … Now, it was deep grey, ALMOST black, with an idea of what appeared to be brown-ish stripes. He used THIS rag to “clean up” the black, thick, shiny, jellylike, filthy, gooey goo from my TOILET floor, around the toilet sit and on the toilet pipe. Then he used it again under the sink, where there was something beyond description and something else I rather not portray. Then with the SAME rag, he went to my kitchen, where I pleaded, for the fourth time “please, this is NOT necessary”, but he thought I was just being nice and while he was scrubbing my kitchen floor he said: “now now, I have to at least get rid of them black spots here see? …” and the poor man smiled whilst he was leaving behind him smudged and stirred black germs and smudged and stirred black, thick, shiny, jellylike, filthy, gooey goo. But hen the final slap … oh my word … the final slap was … my kitchen counter … where I chop my vegetables and cut my bread … on my beautiful kitchen counter … Imagine that he did the same thing with who knows how many apartments before …and who knows how many apartments after mine … with the SAME bloody rag


Yes, this is how Horror films are written. This may as well be the prologue for a horror film … THE RAG … In the next scene you see the rag at the plumber’s house, growing bigger and bigger; and then you see it heaving across the garage floor, up the stairs to the plumber’s bedroom and on his bed. With final scene, right before the opening titles, the plumber being suffocated by the gigantic filthy blob … Swirling in, we see the title … THE RAG!


- But you see, this was not a movie, or a novel. This was my morning. So the instant they left, I brought out my industrial chemicals and I sprayed to kingdom come. Then I brought out my brand new rags and soaps and some more chemicals and scrubbed and rubbed and polished and washed till my fingers almost bled (Note that I was throwing away the rags and sponges with only one use). Finally I poured my (pharmaceutical) 95% alcohol bottle ( that my father brings me every 6 months) to every surface they touched and all over my hands, arms and nose (to exterminate the smell from my nostrils) I have used so much of this (almost) pure alcohol, that I think I got drunk through application rather than consumption. -



You can call me “Monk”, you can call me whatever you want, but this … this was the “Twilight Zone” in my flat…

Yes, you might say that I get easily disgusted. I smell things no other people around me smell. I get nauseated with an idea of a smell. I get nauseated with the idea of anything foul and unclean . . . Yes, you might even say I sometimes exaggerate a bit, but this … This was NOT Swedish germ-apathy my friend.

No, this ladies and gentlemen was inhumane!!!

Tags: dear diary, disgusting, germs, writing

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