On the subject of keeping silence:

My Godfather and I saw eachother on line yesterday morning — or rather, it was his morning, my early evening. Whichever it be, his final comment was a reminder that Silence is the language of Heaven.

A prudent piece of advice.

Celebrating this fact, I’d like to speak now on another benefit of silence. Disclaimer: this is not about Holy Silence, nor would I necessarily say that the expression of silence present in the following viniette is a Virtue, though it may certainly be a Social Grace.

Upon arrival in London, I was to report to an office in central London in order to fulfill a Housing check-in and claim the keys for our flat. While there the nice lady sought to pair us with the most desirable accommodations considering our space needs and budget. As part of this, she called to ensure that the flat in question had been cleaned and prepped for the next tenant (me), as it had been vacated quite recently.

Finding that it was ready, she gave me the keys, and sent me on my merry way. (“Merry” is a euphemism for tired, shaking from muscle fatigue, and dehydrated.)

When I arrived at my new home, I was a little appalled. As I poked around more, I became more appalled. I have in my time seen some filthy places. Never have I seen an oven quite that disgusting.

On the second evening I spent at least 3 hours cleaning the kitchen. Almost the entirety of that time was on the oven. The first time I turned it on, it began to smoke. There was food built up as much as half an inch in some places. A mixture of oils, starches and, at one point I was sure I smelled garlic butter. Soaking some portions while working on others, I finally called it quits when it got to the point I felt I could cook in it without food contamination.

This was in addition to time spent washing the walls (the previous tenant’s children were avid artists), and routing out old receipts and identification paperwork from the tops of cupboards and the back of dressers. I still haven’t figured out how to clean the spit-up (? Or is that something else?) from off the dining chairs.

I was all but prepared to make a formal complaint to the vice-warden in charge of this housing unit about the previous tenant and the mess that the place was left in.

Then, last night, I took my cup of tea out to the lawn where some folks were chatting, watching their kids play. I introduced myself and listened to their conversations about the place and people, thinking that if I just listened I might learn something about the previous tenants. In fact I did learn about the previous tenants. Met them in fact, she’s the vice-warden.

Silence is Gold; Tactical Silence is a Debit Gold Mastercard.

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~ by jeorgesmith on 1 October 2009.

One Response to “On the subject of keeping silence:”

  1. I’m sure your wife appreciated your efforts to clean all the questionable substances from your new home before her arrival.

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