Taking me to the cleaners: Chris sings the blues

As a landlady, the issues of housekeeping and harmony are never far from my mind. Most of these posts are about one or the other. Remember Chris our cleaner? I wrote about him here. He’s very good (at cleaning) but his visits are always tinted with an element of drama (queenness).

I can tell how much of a good mood he’s in by how loudly he sings whilst he works.

At first I said “Sing away, I love to hear people singing”.

I don’t know why I said that. Occasionally it makes me wince and I had no idea it would be constant. Two whole hours of Chris in a good mood is like being trapped in a shower with an X-factor contestant. I can’t even hear what he is singing most of the time, but I recognise some Lion King and Aladdin tracks…

Last week he was very late, and when he finally arrived I was quite peeved. I said “Chris, you’re late” and looked angry.

He said “oh yes, it was a funny thing I was walking along and someone ran out of a shop with some stolen items and the store people ran after him and they took the items and let him go. And the guy who took the stuff was walking in front of me. So I stopped and pretended to lace my shoes for 15 minutes….”

There’s always something.

He looked hurt when I told him so, and then he went off to start the cleaning, whizzing around the house as usual in a red-faced state of nervous coffee and cigarette frenzy.

An hour later he came to find me to say that he had finished he as well go home early?

I said “but Chris you arrived late, and there is loads of extra to do if you have time?”

So he huffed again and cleaned some windows. At the end I tried to smooth the air as he was leaving “I forgot to say how pleased I am with the cleaning: you always do such a good job”.

The week before that he arrived late and I was angry again, as I rush home from work to meet him. I said “Chris you are late!” and he said “yes I know but I left my phone and and I went to a meeting and my phone was somewhere else and I went to this meeting but it’s actually brilliant because I’ve got a ticket to SHAMBALA (festival). I’m so excited. SHAMBALA, YEAH”. He whooped in the air waving both arms.

“Oh” I said. “well you should’ve called at the least”.

Then we talked about Shambala. He left early to pack.

only how I’d love Shambala to be…of course it’s Woodstock 1969

Right now he is here and singing Nickleback at the top of his voice. I’m just grateful it’s not Cher again.

A few weeks before that there was no singing at all. The first and only time.

Chris shuffled into the house with his head low and a ‘charlie brown’ walk. I knew something was wrong. He said ‘hello’ but in a very small voice, and he said that “some people had made confessions they shouldn’t have” over the weekend. He waved his hand at me to say I don’t want to talk about it, and he looked like he had been crying. At the end when he was leaving I said, “Chris, you seem so blue. Are you OK?”

He told me on the doorstep that he had declared his undying love to his housemate over the weekend during an all-nighter in a field.

“Oh” I said. A tear was wobbling in his eye.

“Was it true?”

The tear dropped down his cheek.

“That’s a shame”, I said “I’m sure it will blow over, things always do. Or you could move house?”

A flash of pain. He left, and I did feel sorry for him.

Then last night a random text from Chris to ask if there was space to live in our house. Oh dear, I  thought.

And today, the day after? Well he arrived looking very pleased with himself as he was only 5 minutes late, and I asked him how he was doing, and if he still needed some advice on finding a new house share.

He said “Same as always, up and down, up and down, and no, I’m OK, we’re going to work through the house situation together so I’ll stay put”

“Oh that’s a relief” I said.

The singing is sporadic and medium strength whilst I write to you here.

And even in writing a blog post, time passes, it’s the end of his shift.

We said goodbye at the door and he tells me he’s raising his prices from next week…

“Oh” I said.