Git Off My Cloud

I am angry.

The house I am in is built 1931. One enters it from the broad side, not the ridge side (Firstseite in German) via a pretty large hallway that “goes through”, what simply means that there are two entrances on both sides of the house. You go up on the first floor and stand in front of the door that leads to a Wohnung, a flat. Opening the door you see a corridor with all in all five doors, two to the right, one ahead, two to the left: The first door right leads into a pretty large room that is my actual bureau, where my desk stands from where I write this. The second door leads to another pretty large room that is actually used as storage room. The door ahead simply cuts off a bit of the corridor and cupboards are built-in. At the very end of this there is a new metal security door, only built some months ago, that leads into the bookmine, where the books were/are stored, where I sort them, clean them, and built up some piles of boxes after I have catalogued them.
The first door to the left leads into a bathroom with a bathtub (oh dear …), a toilet and a basin, a lavabo – I use both and have cleaned them when I moved in. There is a third living room, a gefangenes Zimmer (sorry I can not translate this), a room that is only accessible through my bureau: If you have followed me up to this point you know that it must be just right from you when you stand in front of the entrance door. Here I have the “catalogue” I found, some exceptional books, maps, such things. From my desk it is to the right, the door is (again) a metal one of high security – I have no idea why such a door is built in for such a humble room, inside a flat (!).
The second to the left of the corridor leads into the former kitchen, there are no more installations. The room contains only an old kitchen table I use for storing and a bench.

Coming back I went up to the house to bring a bag with my computer and other things into the bureau first, so that I would not carry the items over the farm-yard towards my sleeping location some hundred meters away. First I noticed that the entrance door to the flat was not locked. My first idea was that the caretakers had to come in, maybe I had forgotten to close a window. All doors were closed in the corridor, something I do not like at all and I had had them open before I went away. My bureau was untouched, the gefangene Zimmer too, the door to the bookmines was locked at it should be; in the second to the left – the former kitchen – I found some folded boxes lying on the ground, one of the windows was tilted; on the ground were a black t-shirt, a towel, a peach, and shredded paper from one of the magazines I had used to prevent the windows from slamming, there can be a strong wind here. Parts of the folded boxes were shredded too – like a dog would do.

I told the man who hired me. One hour later the two doors leading outside were fixed, one is used as an emergency door (exit only), I have a key for the other. Yes, before this they were open and the house was often used as a short-cut for people wo went from the farm-yard on one side to the parking lot on the other and so avoided to walk around the whole structure. The entrance door to the flat has a lock from the early thirties, security-wise it is non existant, even me could open this with a nail. But looking at the whole structure it is of no use to put in a modern lock, if one would want to secure this entrance a whole new door plus “what is around” needs to be installed.
It all worked fine and nobody cared, heavens I do not handle gold and diamonds here, just old and worn books. Thankfully I put all the pre-1800s into another place in the week before I went away.

Why am I angry?
I am basically a slow thinker and it takes some time until something builds up. First I thought someone came by and simply used it as a place to sleep off a bender. But someone who is alien to this place could not just walk into a house, open a door and find a place to sleep without at least a bit of investigation. I work here for some months now and do not leave the desk before 22:00 or much later. Then I switch off the lights and leave, sometimes in the dark – if someone watches this he can not be sure that the place is empty. Another thing is that anybody who would like to use this place as a stopover, and would toy with the idea to come back, would hide the traces of being here: It’s only ten minutes to collect the boxes, paper, t-shirt, towel and peach – unfold a box, put the garbage in and carry it out, heavens! – open the inside-doors again as you found them and go out. And if you can unlock this stone age lock you can lock it again, what’s the problem?
The problem is that all this did not happen. Someone was absolutely careless. This was not a tramp who accidentally came by and found a more or less warm and dry place to sleep. I have the suspicion that someone came in knowing well that he she or it could use this place undisturbed for some time; I think the door was simply unlocked with a key; maybe someone was surprised by my return yesterday, or simply too arrogant or dumb to think of cleaning up the mess.
Ich fühl’ mich verarscht.
This makes me really angry.

We’ll see.

10 thoughts on “Git Off My Cloud

  1. Humping Dwarves? There’s a market for that… Or so I’m told….
    It is a little unsettling to think that someone has been camping in your book mine…

  2. “Humping dwarves?”

    A good idea for Filthy Friday on Infomaniac.

    Thoughtless people abound!

    Mistress MJ had an unpleasant confrontation with someone yesterday so she understands your anger.

  3. It could have been a courting couple, that would explain the towel. I remember in my youth being led inside a smelly old abandonned building for a bit of rumpy pumpy, as I was being taken roughly from behind, my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and I could clearly see I was amongst old tramps and cider women, it gave me a thrill like no other.

  4. Someone or something, dear Princess

    Dwarf-mining … the subterranean world is full of wonders and horrors, XL.

    Actually I spent half of the night here, Joyce, and usually meet no living soul!

    I had my unpleasant confrontation over the afternoon, MJ.

    You were casted for the adult version of Theater of Blood I suppose dear Mitzi.

  5. I wish I could say it was just me stopping by, but I would never leave crap on the floor! As a fellow “slow thinker” my anger is also a slow start burn, but in the worst of cases the temperature can get so hot as to be a blue-white flame capable of turning bones into ash. I hope they do not come back!
    Take Care my friend,
    Melanie/proxima illume

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