Mein Zimmer

My Wohnheim (residence/dorm/whatever) is a stinking piece of shit. Almost literally. When I first walked in, the smell of stale Pacific Asian cuisine hit me like the cold kiss of a wet fist. “Who lives here, and why do they live?” Was my initial thought. I entered my room and found an un swept floor along with the mocking sight of a broom in the corner of the room; a condom package, its contents mysteriously absent and the mish-mash array of furniture all threatened to spell ruin onto my trip.

To go into the stages of grief and regret at this point would take up too much space on the Internet. There could be websites devoted to the various emotions that ran through me. Anger, fear, regret, helplessness, hopelessness, and hunger. My god! What have I done? I left my friends, family, and home for this? For a year? No, I have to get out of here, I have to leave. This one window I have cannot be enough to console me. Oh no! The steel shutter that adorns most every window I’ve seen in Germany so far is stuck closed. Now I don’t even have light. To top it off I have no Internet (no contact with friends, family) I have no bed-sheets (they’re also included in the room and subsequently, filthy), what the fuck am I going to do?

I spent the evening with a sleep-deprived group at the resident director’s house and then went to bed wearing my clothes on top of a crummy bare mattress.

In the morning I had a better outlook on things. The feeling of dread was almost gone, and in its place was a feeling of determination. I’m going to get this room cleaned!

Step one: Complain about everything to the resident director and get him to fix it! Sure enough, with one phone call (though, on the third day there) my shutter was fixed, I had wonderful, new, bedding, and even the door to the apartment was unstuck.

Step two: do everything else yourself. It took me four days but I finally bought all my cleaning supplies, and most of my amenities. I cleaned everything in sight with hygienic wipes, and dusters, I sprayed odor neutralizers into the room, and I have more detergents at the ready, which at the time of writing I haven’t used yet. Soon the floor will bend to my cleaning will, and the bathroom and counter top will feel the sweet caress of Meister Proper (Germany’s version of Mr. Clean).

I also splurged on some amenities including a 20-euro printer (nahce!), a stainless steel fan (which looks like it was made by a man who thinks he still lives in 1954), and a Brita filtration thingy (which rocks!)

Things were looking up, and to quote the late Kurt Cobain, who captures the situation perfectly: “Maybe I can finally get rid of that piss-stained mattress I’ve been sleeping on.”

Tschuss!