It is ODI (Occupied Dwelling Inspection) time ... again. The good part about ODI is that it forces me to clean everything. The bad part about ODI is that it forces me to clean everything. I have a love/hate relationship with domestic chores: I love to hate them. In addition to having my paternal grandmother's hoarding gene (just a touch of it, honest,) I hate chores because chores were used as punishment when I was a child, and just like everything else my mother used as punishment, they were a little ... over the top. If Michelle told me to clean my room and it didn't pass muster, she'd trash it -- all the way down to actually *turning over the bookshelves* -- and make me do it again. Consequently, I tend to avoid cleaning because as soon as I start, I get very, very stressed -- there's just no way I'll be able to do it perfectly enough. And when it comes to ODI and I have 3 men in my apartment checking for dirty dishes and soap scum, well ... you can see the problem, right?
STRESS OVERLOAD.
The biggest problem with ODI is this: we get a notice that has on it a 2-week window -- Inspections will be conducted between such-and-such time on this date and such-and-such time on some other date 2 weeks away -- but absolutely zero hint as to where, within that window, specific apartments will fall. The Stormtroopers could come bustin' in this Tuesday, or Tuesday twice removed.
STRESS OVERLOAD.
Out of necessity, I clean everything as soon as I get the notice: Do I have 4 days, or 14? No telling. Get on it. I scrub out the fridge, scour the stove top and burners, clean the oven, bleach the counters, scour the bathtub, wash all the linens, organize *everything*, polish the furniture, sweep, mop, vacuum, make sure the closets are decent ... it goes on and on. And then I suffer
STRESS OVERLOAD
because I feel I must keep everything perfect until they arrive. I go ballistic if I spill something. I have a freakout attack if I see a crumb. Heaven forbid Jude kick kitty litter out of the box.
One redeeming factor is that the ODI Stormtroopers aren't allowed to look in my personal appliances or furniture. If I hear them coming down the hall and I haven't done the breakfast dishes, I can hide them in the microwave. If my room is just too cluttered but I have no place to put things that looks tidy enough -- a common problem in a place this size -- they go bye-bye under the bed for awhile. Simple enough. But I often feel like some sort of fugitive of war, stashing away my belongings till it's safe to bring them out again. And with every day that goes by without ODI being done and over with for the year, I get progressively more neurotic.
I failed an inspection once, some years ago. I had just broken up with my girlfriend and was working at the supermarket, where I put up with physical pain and overt discrimination over fear of losing my job. My depression and anxiety were horrible: I could barely wash my own hair, let alone the dishes. And the consequences weren't dire; I wasn't evicted or anything. But I did have to suffer the utter embarrassment of a CCHA employee showing up at my door with a folder of cleaning tips and a dumbass housekeeping video to watch, as if I had no idea how to operate a can of Pledge, followed by a second inspection. I was so humiliated I actually cried, which humiliated me more, which resulted in me being severely pissed off for several straight days. I have no desire to repeat that experience. Therefore, I suffer
STRESS OVERLOAD
and clean like a maniac, and grumble the whole time about how much I loathe living here, and entertain fantasies of walking into the home of a member of the Housing Authority board and declaring it a sty, and forcing him to watch a video about how to use Pledge.
... really? A housekeeping video about *dusting* was my punishment?
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