Revenge instead of rehabilitation

The time, place and persons surrounding this dialogue out of memory are purposefully left vague. Let’s say ten years ago, in a city and place far away from me; and let me say I have seen things that would have spurred a less lazy man into reifying the acts below.

Person 1: Gawd, the other people in this shared flat are pigs.

Person 2: Me too?

1: No, not you. But the others — sheesh, wouldn’t surprise me to walk to the common room some day, and find one of our dear companions snoring on the floor, naked, surrounded by drops and nuggets of his ejaculate and excrement.

2: Would surprise me; I’d expect that, with no trace of the person… and no intent to clean up. Just the nuggets and drops, slowly gathering dust.

1: Sometimes I get this urge… this supremely satisfying idea: that if the sink is full of dirty, stinking dishes that have lain there for days, I’d slam open the window, and let them all fly, arc away, three floors down, away, plate after plate and fungoid frying pan after phlegmy fork. Fight fire with fire… and inconsiderate loutish behavior with the same. Let them have a penalty for their lack of consideration.

2: I know the feeling.

1: And then, when one of our happy fellows slouched out of his room into one more day of shirking all washing and housekeeping… he would step into a puddle of something yellowish, still dripping down his doorframe. Because even a patient man has to leave his mark, the sign that this is his territory too, from time to time.

2: Satisfying, yes; likely to solve the problem, eh, no. Be a Finn. Just walk out of your room full of towering black rage, a murder in your eyes, an axe in your hand, and slam it into the table, Sword in the Stone-deep, and say it is the warning. Not a warning; the warning. Then turn, and return to your room without another word. Things will improve.

1: Ah yes, the good old “partystopper” idea.

2: Works better than the passive-aggressive yuck cup trick, anyway.

1: What’s that?

2: A sign that says “MY CUTLERY, MY CUPS MY PANS. Do not use. These are mine. Hands off. I can use eating utensils that have been peed on, okay?” And the next day there’s a scrawled postscript: “Well, we’ll see.”

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