Who is the messiest person you know?

My best friend John. He is one messy dude and how it effects me is I always have to worry about him getting bite by a rat while he is sleeping (he gets rats at his place because it is so messy). Or when I ride in his car I have to worry about some junk rolling under the brake peddle and we get in a crash. Cheers!

One of my old drinking buddies was a binner and a hoarder. His one bedroom apartment was piled floor to ceiling with all the junk he had collected over time. There was just a narrow pathway from the front entrance to kitchen and bathroom. He just slept on the floor in one of the pathways. The only time it bothered me was when he got his eviction notice for refusing get rid of the firehazard  because all that junk was 'his treasures.'  and then he asked me to help him move out to his new place. What a job that was!

My stepdaughter when she lived here. I was in constant inner turmoil. She no longer is.

 

  Prior to retiring, I kept both the messiest desk and the messiest office of any set of coworkers I’ve ever known. This was one of those situations where someone could ask me for any document on any day and about 90 to 95% percent of the time, I could produce it immediately. I knew exactly where everything was, yet if anyone else ever tried to search for something, it was a futile effort. Few even tried. It looked like what we used to call in the Marine Corps, that “a paper grenade had been tossed in there”.

  Rewind the clock or turn back the calendar pages to when I was about six years old, I noticed that at the dining table, my younger brother (13 months my junior) always left a veritable ring of spilled food around his plate when he ate. It didn’t matter what the meal was, what kind of food, it seemed to me that half his servings fed the table more than they fed his face. It was inconceivable to my young mind how he could make such a mess, especially because I, as his elder and example, never did it. In fact, out of four siblings at that time, he being the youngest, he was the only one who was a sloppy eater. Alas, even being over a year of advanced age beyond him, I had no power nor authority, because our mother maintained a strict policy that none of us could parent or boss another. Why she herself never took the same umbrage that I took also escaped my realm of comprehension, because she was a strict disciplinarian in the strictest definitions of the phrase. At the end of each meal, his discards were wiped up and thrown in the rubbish, yet another capital offense in our household, yet overlooked for some odd and never disclosed reason in obvious and decidedly unfair preferential treatment bestowed upon that vile and undeserving knave. His slovenly habit, unchecked in childhood, continued for at least a decade thereafter. 


 [Caveat: as far as the office is concerned, I never had a desk job while in the Corps, where such messiness never would have been allowed.]
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