I have reason to believe that the objects in my house are working together to undermine my peace of mind. Individually, their behaviour might appear harmless, but collectively, it suggests a conspiracy of considerable proportions.
We have lived together long enough for me to know their quirks. Lately, however, I’ve begun to suspect there is a pattern, with every object assigned a specific role.
What follows is my case file, with household objects being interrogated. It’s quite a task when I am the aggrieved homeowner, the investigator, the prosecutor and occasionally, the victim.
Ceasefire
My balcony doors have serious attitude problems. I know their rollers are slightly rusty, so I graciously offer to spray them with WD-40. For a few glorious days, the doors glide effortlessly. “Hmm!” Something tells me this is too good to last. And the very next day, they resume their protests: dragging, clicking and making the glass rumble.
I knew it! The WD-40 has negotiated a temporary ceasefire, not a permanent peace treaty.
Buried Secrets
I have a few old wooden drawers that simply refuse to open. Perhaps they are annoyed at having been ignored for so long.
On second thoughts, why force them open when the contents might include a mystery, a disappointment or an object whose purpose has long expired? Perhaps some mysteries are best left undisturbed.
Am I being naïve? Is there more going on here?
Just when I think I’m imagining things, the chaos begins to look suspiciously organised.
Sabotage
My appliances are perfectly capable of doing their jobs, provided I don’t actually need them to. The moment I desperately need one to work it stages a silent protest. I summon a service technician, explain the problem in considerable detail, and wait for him to witness the disaster.
Nothing happens. The appliance works beautifully. I could swear I hear a little giggle.
The technician leaves, probably wondering why I called him in the first place. And the moment the door closes behind him, I can almost imagine the appliance turning to me with a smug little grin and saying, “Got you!”
The Great Escape
Not sure how many of you do this, but I squeeze every last bit of toothpaste out of a tube. By this stage, the shapeless, flattened object requires skill and determination to operate. I position my toothbrush strategically, hold it close to the tube’s opening and prepare for the final squeeze. Without warning, the entire precious lot launches itself into the air and lands on the rim of the washbasin.
I stare at the mess, wondering how something that required so much effort to extract could escape with such enthusiasm. I have been outmanoeuvred by a tube of toothpaste.
What did I tell you? Hell is slowly breaking loose.
The Lid Conspiracy
As I reach for the drawer, I hear a rumble, followed by complete silence. I proceed cautiously. There, in plain sight, is a perfectly good round container. The challenge now is to find its lid. I see square lids, oval lids and lids belonging to containers I don’t remember owning. But not a single round lid.
I empty the entire drawer in the hope of restoring order to this plastic disaster zone. And there it is! The elusive round lid, wedged right at the bottom. The lid and its container have clearly been separated by forces beyond my understanding.
This is a conspiracy.
The Dramatic Exit
It usually happens just before a party. The bulb above my dining table begins to flicker. Not enough to go out completely, mind you. Just enough to make me wonder whether I should replace it. I hesitate. Surely, it will last a little longer? My eyes keep drifting towards it as we engage in a silent battle of wills.
Then, just when dinner is served and the bulb has an audience, it chooses the perfect moment to stage its grand exit.
Grrr! Watt’s its problem?
Isn’t this getting ridiculous?
Just when I think I can make sense of this madness, I find myself getting emotionally involved.
Territorial Wars
My cupboards are perfectly happy to remain closed, but the moment I return with freshly laundered clothes, which surely have every right to be there too, the doors stage a protest. These clothes have been away for a while, but they’re back home now, ready to resume their lives.
I push. I rearrange. I try again. The door refuses to shut, as though the cupboard has suddenly discovered it has reached its legal occupancy limit.
I suspect the permanent residents are jealous of the returning residents, who smell fresh and clean. A little rivalry is understandable, but surely, it shouldn’t be allowed to destroy relationships!
Secret Society
My collection of hangers tucked away for emergencies has unfortunately, become a tangled mess. I pull at one, and three others come along for the ride. I try another, only to discover that it has somehow hooked itself around two more. They’ve formed an exclusive society.
I will admit that I feel for them. They have clearly grown attached to one another, and I sometimes wonder whether I should be more considerate of their feelings.
This investigation is becoming complicated. I started out looking for evidence of a conspiracy, and now I am developing emotional attachments to the suspects.
I need to stay composed and maintain appropriate boundaries.
Thankfully, I come to my senses just in time. Some of the other suspects are far less deserving of my sympathy.
The Ego Trip
One of my shampoo bottles refuses to dispense its contents without considerable persuasion. I shake it, squeeze it, turn it upside down and negotiate with it. The problem is that these negotiations invariably take place while I am standing under the shower, hardly the ideal setting for testing my patience or diplomatic skills.
Just when the bottle thinks its ego is unshakeable, I add some water and shake it vigorously. Suddenly, the shampoo flows out with the greatest of ease!
I am beginning to suspect that the shampoo bottle has been attending the same negotiation classes as the balcony door and the uncooperative appliances.
Beyond Geometry
Why are fitted bedsheets so stubborn? No matter how carefully I try to fold them back into their original shape, they refuse to cooperate. The elastic edges stretch and spring back with every fold. I tuck one corner into another, smooth it out, fold it again, and just when I think I’ve finally cracked the code, the whole thing springs out of shape.
What begins as a perfectly reasonable attempt at folding, ends with me holding a lumpy, shapeless bundle. It looks like a map of an undiscovered continent.
The evidence is overwhelming. The objects in my house are clearly not acting independently. There is coordination, communication, and a disturbing degree of organisation.
Unfortunately, I have neither the evidence to prosecute nor the authority to evict them. They have established residency, they know all my weaknesses, and show no signs of surrender. The inconvenient truth, of course, is that I need them, despite their persistent attempts to annoy me.
The case remains open. The suspects remain at large.
For now, I resolve to coexist with them as best I can, but I will not let my guard down.