I hate notes. Well, I hate the kind of notes people leave when they have something to say, some small criticism or demand, and don't have the cajones to step up and say something to your face. Oh, sure, they'll tell you it's because they didn't know if they'd see you or that it's not a big deal once they're confronted. But that's nonsense.
My roommate is notorious (in my eyes) for this. She has notes everywhere asking everything from where here HEPA filter is for her vacuum to cleaning up the living room. And I know why: the confrontation makes her nervous, a detail I can assume since whenever she owns up and tries to ask people anything that may be responded to negatively, she speaks only in interogatives, a huge pet peeve of mine. Few small things can take me from placid to annoyed faster than ending non-question statements with an ascending pitch.
Here's the thing about the notes: I live with her. She's going to see me. And I know she just cleaned up the living room but I don't need a crudely-scrawled missive telling me to keep it clean. I'm going to do my best but there are laws of entropy. It will be messy again. And you know what else: it wouldn't have been so bad if she would have just told me in person with some confidence. "Hey, can you take your pizza boxes on your way out today?" In fact, I would have been apologetic. But now my ire is raised and I feel almost vengeful. I hope the place gets messy. In fact, I hope the whole loft gets messy just after all the paper and pens/markers/pencils/chalk/charcoal in the immediate area incinerate so that, when she has to tell me the place is a sty, she has to say something in person.
She'll probably still try to write it in blood on the wall or something.
Postscript: this post is not ironic.
1 comment:
umm...i personally think rather than a dictionary definition, dave eggers' discourse on the use of the word "irony" would have made a much better link. but perhaps i'm just trying to plug my husband.
-jess.
Post a Comment