There is always one. I’m talking about the messiest person you’ve ever met, everyone knows someone that creates a big pile of mess everywhere they go.
It’s as though this person simply can’t get from A to B without dropping something, spilling something or breaking something. You’re in a restaurant and they pull their chair back too far and bump off the person at the next table before knocking against the table as they sit down which causes the little vase with the single flower to fall over, water flows all over the table, the vase rolls onto the floor and breaks and as this person turns to look for a waiter to get a cloth, the waiter has seen all this happen, gets to the table too quickly and he gets an elbow in the ribs for being efficient. And all this happens as you’re still standing beside the table, mortification spreading throughout your entire body and after a sharp intake of breath you realise that it’s now a few minutes later, you haven’t breathed since and you’re just wondering if it’s safe to sit down yet.
A simple trip to the Spar for late night supplies gives the guy behind the counter his only bit of entertainment of his entire shift as Mr or Miss Messy leave a trail of destruction throughout the shop; picking up a newspaper by just one corner results in a page in his hand and the rest of it on the floor, all he does is ask if you want an apple and it seems like an entire orchard rolls down the aisle, this person always picks up a can from the bottom of the pile and tins of beans compete with the apples for floor space. The frightened looking girl behind the hot food counter literally just finishes saying how hot the aluminium tray is when it bounces off one hand, a second and then results in a pile of barbeque sauce and chicken wings on the floor. At the till you just stand back hoping he’ll just pay, which means you can leave and you hope the security camera footage appear in a You Tube Top Ten.
You often wonder how the person hasn’t killed himself yet in some kind of freak accident that could only happen to someone like Mr Messy.
You know that you risk everything you own when you allow Mr Messy into your house. And you never mean to invite him over; he just appears at the door or trails after you and a few mates when you’re leaving the pub at closing time. I couldn’t believe just how much damage a friend of a friend did in my place once. Spilt wine, broken glasses, knocked ashtrays, kicked over bin, books knocked off shelves, biscuits trampled into the carpet. Every time he moved I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable sound of something else breaking. He was telling a story and with one sweep of his arm he knocked everything off a nearby coffee table. I asked him to leave before I lost the will to live. He somehow ended up in my place again some months later. I warned him not to touch anything, not to move and only breathe when I said it was ok. He promised he wouldn’t even pick up anything, would just sit with no sudden movements. I watched him like a hawk. Yet he still managed to knock everything off the same coffee table when all I think he meant to do was scratch his head. He’s not allowed come back to my place ever again now.
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