We get started. Well, actually, first Monk lines up all the cleaning supplies along the edge of the bed alphabetically by brand name, then he changes his mind and puts the products in perfect little circles as to which room they will be used in. The toilet bowl cleaner and the toilet brush are in a circle with the hand soap, and the CLR. He can't decide on where to put the three jugs of bleach, the vacuum cleaner, the buckets (he sets the mop beside the bed), or the mildew remover, because both the bathroom and bedroom will require it. Why didn't I bring a magazine?
After what seems like an hour of arranging these items that we will be using very shortly, I chime in to help. I do not want to watch him clean this entire room for the next two nights.
"Mr. Monk, what would you like me to clean?" I ask sweetly. He's holding the bleach in one hand, the bucket in the other, and has the mop under one arm. I then remember that he can't make decisions.
"Well, how about the…." he stammers. Wow, and he was really on a roll there for a bit….
"Never mind," I say. "I'll use the CLR and clean out the bathtub."
"Uhmm… How about you clean the mildew instead? No!" He cuts himself off. "The windows!" He steals a quick glance at them. "Wait, that isn't a priority….."
"I waited until you grabbed something for a reason," I reply. "So that I wouldn't pick what you were going to pick. You've already chosen what you want to work with first." I point at the bleach as he glances down at it as if he had no idea it was there.
"Well, I thought that I was going to clea—"
"I don't want you to do everything," I state. "I'm bored too, and I want to help."
He smiles at me, apparently appreciating the sanitary aspect of my personality.
We head into the bathroom, and I step into the bathtub, still wearing my shoes. There is an immensely thick brownish ring around the fixture, and I am not about to touch anything with my bare feet.
Monk sees this and immediately begins to panic. "Wait—you can't just step into the bathtub! You're still wearing shoes! All that dirt and grime is going to—"
I silence him with a finger. "Mr. Monk," I say, as calmly as possible. "I am going to remove the rust and mineral buildup first with this cleaner, then the mildew from the shower curtain with the mildew remover, and then we can clean it all out with bleach, and it will be completely and utterly germ-free." I smile, proud of myself.
"But what about the—"
"The other advantage to doing it this way is that all that residue from the previous cleaners will be washed off, so that when we take our showers, the bleach will be all that is left."
"You're not going to rinse it away! And what do you mean, we? This is my bathroom."
"Of course I'm going to rinse it." I shake my head and tsk at him. "And, no, it's not your bathroom. I want to use a clean bathroom as well."
"I need to have my own bathroom," he says. He shrugs, bending down to fill the bucket. "You'll have to go elsewhere."
"No." I shut the door behind me with a loud bang, glaring at him defiantly.
Startled, he looks up at me wide-eyed from his position on the floor. "Why did you shu—"
I cut him off with a hand. "If we are going to have to stay in this motel for two nights, some of your traditions are going to have to change. Firstly, this bathroom is for both of us to use."
He's shaking his head.
"Don't you think I want to use a clean bathroom as well?" I ask him, irritated.
"Yes, but—"
"Okay, then. I'm leaving. You can stay here alone. I'll come pick you up in two days." Without delay, I spin around and open the bathroom door, stomping over to my suitcase to close it back up. I go over to the bed and throw my car keys, makeup bag, and change purse in the general direction of my bag as well. He'll be coming out any minute now….
He appears at the threshold, looking a bit withdrawn and holding his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, but you know how I am. Would it really be so hard to just—use someone else's bathroom?"
As he finishes up talking, I walk by him with my suitcase in hand, and I unlock the room door. He puts an arm out to stop me, and I look over at him tiredly.
"What are you doing?" I say. "I told you; I'm leaving. If you can't compromise—"
"How is that a compromise?" he cries. "You're getting your way, and I'm not!"
"Well, now you're getting your way. Move your arm." I try to push past him.
"No—" he insists. He looks back toward where my suitcase was lying, and points at something. "You can't go anywhere anyway; you left your keys—"
I attempt to turn around quickly to retrieve them, but the bulky suitcase hits the doorway and Monk expertly avoids making contact with it as he snatches my keys from atop his luggage.
"You'd better give me those keys," I say dangerously. I squat to lower the suitcase, then realize how filthy the floor is. He's flashing me a mischievous smile, and his eyes narrow, like he's trying to challenge me or something. Does he have any idea how annoyed I am right now?
"Or what?" he says playfully, swinging them on one finger. I walk towards him slowly, glaring at him as he backs toward the window. Once I'm near the dresser, I swing my bag back where it was, and lunge at him.
He squirms past, keeping clear of me, but the room is so cluttered he has nowhere to go. I'm standing by the left-hand corner of the bed after the initial attack, and he's hunched over by the heater clutching the keys more tightly now. As I charge at him again, he slips past me quite gracefully, dashing past the dresser, but I catch him by his left sleeve as he attempts to run through the narrow passageway between dresser and bed. A struggle ensues as I try to grab his other hand, where the keys are clenched in his fist. He's being amazingly playful in this game of cat-and-key, and I can see a glimmer in his eye as he twists the key hand away from me. I, on the other hand, am rolling my eyes, frustrated at this game he's made it into.
He's tucking the arm behind his back and passing it between his hands when I hear my car alarm go off. We pause from our struggle, and I sigh with exasperation at the annoying honking. Realizing that his own horseplay had set it off, Monk brings his hand out to the front and opens his fingers, revealing the keyless entry. I immediately take advantage of this opportunity and snatch my keys away, leaving him in shock.
I click the alarm button again, shutting off the horn, as I grab the handle of the suitcase once more. I'm significantly calmer than I had been initially, but I don't want him to see that.
"Okay, okay," he mutters, holding his hands up. "—You can use my bathroom… but only for emer—"
The look I give him causes him to sigh, and begin again. "A-alright… you can use it when you want to—j-just don't leave, okay?"
I nod vigorously, and toss my keys over my shoulder as I walk back to the bathroom, feeling more confident about Monk's capacity to return to normalcy, since I've convinced him to change such an integral part of his lifestyle. I then realize the problem we'll be having later on, and suddenly don't feel quite as triumphant.
We delve into the cleaning process. Every few seconds, my employer comments on my work, which always happens to be negative in nature, instructing me to rub horizontally instead of vertically or some other little quirky detail about mineral removal.
He uses a ridiculous amount of bleach to scrub the linoleum floor and the tiles on the wall. The bucket water is a sickening white from all the strong stuff. After putting on the latex gloves, he proceeds to dip the mop in the bleach solution and absolutely soak the floor with it.
"Now, I can't see how that can be sanitary," I say.
He looks up, astounded that I am commenting on his cleanliness. It's probably the first time ever that he's been told that he's being unsanitary.
"What are you talking about?" he cries. "I'm soaking the floor in the bleach first, and then I'm going to mop it up, and then I'm going to reapply a more potent solution of bleach to really get in there and kill those germs…. Only then can I rinse it away knowing it's as clean as it can get."
"I think at that point you and I will both be unconscious." I fan my hand in front of my face, disgusted at the noxious chlorine vapors that are rising from the bucket. "That bleach is going to give us both brain damage; do you know that?"
He sighs and continues to apply the water-soaked mop head to the grimy linoleum. I have successfully removed the rust ring from around the tub, and am now rubbing down the fissure between the wall and the ceramic of the bathroom fixture. I can see that the sealant has been peeling away, allowing for large deposits of lime and probably mildew as well, by the green color, to pile up.
Apparently Monk has never had to do the job I am now doing, for he doesn't say a word, even though he occasionally glances over.
An hour has passed and the mineral deposits are gone from the bathtub, but Monk is still on his first coat of bleach on the floor.
I am getting fed up with his immense slowness, and request the bleach bucket. "Why?" he asks, completely oblivious to just how long he is taking.
"If you want a decent-looking shower-head, Mr. Monk, you'll get me a bucket so that I can soak it in the CLR and get this crap off." I hold up the grotesque thing for him to see. He diverts his eyes from the sight and leaves the room immediately, returning with the other bucket. I guess he can be prompt, after all. I leap out of the bathtub, where I have been standing waaay too long, and emerge from the noxious fumes that have filled the tiny room.
After I soak the showerhead in the CLR for a couple of minutes, I take the clean fixture back into the bathroom, where Mr. Monk is sitting on the rim of the bathtub slouched over, with his head between his legs.
"Mr. Monk!" I cry, squatting down in front of him, forgetting about the dizzying odor. "Are you alright?"
