One of my favorite movies is Mary Poppins. If you haven't seen it, it includes among other things, cheerful chimney sweeps, a magical merry-go-round, mean nannies who blow away, a self-cleaning room, spoonfuls of sugar, and dancing cartoon penguins. I have an especial soft spot for it, it being responsible for my near-ability to comprehend English accents when I first blew into Britain, aged six (although I was still horrified at the unintelligible yammerings of one small boy, until my mom promised he was not painfully suffering but just Cockney. true story). It also introduced into my budding vocabulary the fascinating word supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, which my parents and I practised singing to while away the time in our slow-moving antique London hotel elevator.
Mary Poppins herself is the magic nanny who flies in on an umbrella, in response to the young Jane and Michael Banks' desperate summons:
If you want this choice position
Have a cheery disposition
Rosy cheeks, no warts!
Play games, all sorts...
I would like to take this opportunity to extend this same delightful invitation to those who would like to take my place in our household for the next academic year, since apparently I am shaping up as a contender for the WWR (world's worst roommate). It can't help that I am often oddly perceptive about things that should be confusing, and yet oblivious to the simpler ones, scoring borderline on the Facebook Asperger's test (possible, since I was a 'blue baby'...I actually used to fail those cartoon face reading tests in the magazines, although recently I apparently excel at the online versions. Apparently, at birth I was also too human for batteries to be included). Whatever it is that accounts for my most glaring shortcomings as a housemate, you will definitely have a better chance if you aren't impatient or suffering culture shock, especially with unfamiliar electric kitchen appliances. But enough rambling, it is best I present my offences to date, or those described as such by the current occupants, and let you weigh in on their gravity and whether you have a shot at bettering them. So here, to complement my list of what not to do in your first week at college, is what not to do in your first year as a college roommate. I have:
Attempted the dishwasher race (an extended family institution -- first one to unload the clean load of dishes wins; it's most fun when one of you has the advantage of jet lag and wakes up at ungodly hours); hummed in the kitchen at 9am, and in the bath at 10pm; washed three loads of clothes on my biweekly laundry day; and hoovered too loudly, on the rare occasion people were still at home. I have failed to report: the whereabouts of the trivet (I'm still adding to my foreign vocabulary), as well as buying soap, not buying soap, putting shoes in the closet, and moving bags to the shelf. I have also neglected to use the electric chimney on several occasions, when: frying spices (twice); cooking broccoli, or microwaving. In addition, I have let the kitchen shelf tilt after trying and failing to fix it, and suggested composting. I have, on occasion, failed to turn the washing machine light off after use, or to leave its door open; I have even regularly left the living room doors open, in assuming living/dining room events to be public; left the kitchen spring cupboards open, and, once, the front door cracked, instead of pulled to (with people home). I have regularly answered the phone when it is usually spam callers. Twice, I have left labels on jars and then dishwashed them, causing them to float off and stick in the filter, or to personal mugs; once, I even put in a lid of mine that was the wrong kind of plastic, and shrunk it.
I could go on, but at this point I hasten to mention that, if desired, unlike the college not-to-do list you will be able to burn things on our kitchen stove with impunity, as the ground floor smoke detector is out. Just as long as no-one else is at home. If you are in fact Mary Poppins, I'm afraid our chimney won't accommodate sweeps, but no doubt you have recourse to self-cleaning magic, and a cheery disposition.
Mary Poppins herself is the magic nanny who flies in on an umbrella, in response to the young Jane and Michael Banks' desperate summons:
If you want this choice position
Have a cheery disposition
Rosy cheeks, no warts!
Play games, all sorts...
I would like to take this opportunity to extend this same delightful invitation to those who would like to take my place in our household for the next academic year, since apparently I am shaping up as a contender for the WWR (world's worst roommate). It can't help that I am often oddly perceptive about things that should be confusing, and yet oblivious to the simpler ones, scoring borderline on the Facebook Asperger's test (possible, since I was a 'blue baby'...I actually used to fail those cartoon face reading tests in the magazines, although recently I apparently excel at the online versions. Apparently, at birth I was also too human for batteries to be included). Whatever it is that accounts for my most glaring shortcomings as a housemate, you will definitely have a better chance if you aren't impatient or suffering culture shock, especially with unfamiliar electric kitchen appliances. But enough rambling, it is best I present my offences to date, or those described as such by the current occupants, and let you weigh in on their gravity and whether you have a shot at bettering them. So here, to complement my list of what not to do in your first week at college, is what not to do in your first year as a college roommate. I have:
Attempted the dishwasher race (an extended family institution -- first one to unload the clean load of dishes wins; it's most fun when one of you has the advantage of jet lag and wakes up at ungodly hours); hummed in the kitchen at 9am, and in the bath at 10pm; washed three loads of clothes on my biweekly laundry day; and hoovered too loudly, on the rare occasion people were still at home. I have failed to report: the whereabouts of the trivet (I'm still adding to my foreign vocabulary), as well as buying soap, not buying soap, putting shoes in the closet, and moving bags to the shelf. I have also neglected to use the electric chimney on several occasions, when: frying spices (twice); cooking broccoli, or microwaving. In addition, I have let the kitchen shelf tilt after trying and failing to fix it, and suggested composting. I have, on occasion, failed to turn the washing machine light off after use, or to leave its door open; I have even regularly left the living room doors open, in assuming living/dining room events to be public; left the kitchen spring cupboards open, and, once, the front door cracked, instead of pulled to (with people home). I have regularly answered the phone when it is usually spam callers. Twice, I have left labels on jars and then dishwashed them, causing them to float off and stick in the filter, or to personal mugs; once, I even put in a lid of mine that was the wrong kind of plastic, and shrunk it.
I could go on, but at this point I hasten to mention that, if desired, unlike the college not-to-do list you will be able to burn things on our kitchen stove with impunity, as the ground floor smoke detector is out. Just as long as no-one else is at home. If you are in fact Mary Poppins, I'm afraid our chimney won't accommodate sweeps, but no doubt you have recourse to self-cleaning magic, and a cheery disposition.
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