I spent yesterday destroying evidence.
Now, the obvious question arises – why go to the effort of destroying evidence if you are then going to talk about it? A more sensible approach would maintain silence regarding the whole business.
I never claimed to be sensible. But more importantly, it wasn’t THAT kind of evidence. It was, simply, evidence of life in a confined space. Dishes, dust, trash, recyclables, scattered papers, laundry –
Ah, the laundry. That, I’m afraid, did not go so well. There was a Calamity. A bird built a nest in the pipe leading to the dryer vent and then, sadly, took the pipe as its final resting place. Truly a case of “fallen off the perch.”
Since that pipe acts as the air intake for the dryer, it was not long before myself and the other apartment residents noticed a Presence among us. I would like to report mysterious drafts of feathers and a ghostly chirping, but that would be inaccurate. Instead, we were stricken with a Smell.
The dryer smelled, the laundry room smelled, any clothes put in the dryer smelled – soon, the apartment was littered with piles of fishy-smelling clothing that no one wanted to put away in their closet. Poltergeist looked like copy for Apartment Therapy in comparison; a little classic haunting activity would have been a welcome break.
As it was, once the bird’s earthly remains were removed, the Smell remained. Attempts at exorcism with Lysol and vinegar have so far been unsuccessful. I’m currently looking into the merits of goat blood.
Some evidence doesn’t go down without a fight.
Yes, I was cleaning. But it feels much more rewarding when I think of it as “destroying evidence”.