"Dirty White Trash (with Gulls)" by Tim Noble and Sue Webster
Have you seen Hoarders? It’s GNARLY. I literally had to pop a Xanax (okay, TWO) to finish watching last night’s episode. Somewhere around the second commercial break, I realized I was clenching my jaw and sitting on my hands (I don’t know why I sit on my hands when I’m feeling stressed, I just do…so, get over it). If you haven’t seen the show, you’re probably asking yourself what could this reality program be about that is so totally disturbing that Kim would have to self-medicate in order to watch? Well, I’m going to tell you.
Hoarders, on A&E, is about people who never throw anything away. And when I say never, I mean NEVER. These certifiably insane men and women have so much crap that they couldn’t possibly even imagine having to part with, it’s taken over their lives. Their houses are filled to the brim with everything you can imagine: books, bottles, boxes, and a whole boatload of junk that doesn’t necessarily start with the letter B. Most of this clutter is simply garbage, foul rubbish these freaks can’t separate themselves from because each tiny scrap of paper or empty to-go cup from Wendy’s MEANS something to them. Like a keepsake, or a souvenir. It’s not only incredibly disconcerting the way these people cherish their trash, it’s disgusting.
Some of the rooms in the hoarder’s house are completely inaccessible due to the giant piles of stuff covering the floors, tables, chairs, and shelves. Most have managed to fashion themselves a footpath that grants them access to the essentials: the bed, the bathroom, the front door. However, some of these folks can’t even FIND the bathroom or the bed anymore. Many just carve a small spot out of the giant heaps of garbage where they manage to live, eat, and sleep…if you can even call that living. It’s some serious Grey Gardens shit.
When I was younger, members of society who preferred to live in such squalor were referred to as “pack rats” or just plain, old “slobs”. I’d be willing to bet that many of you have known someone who fits the description. Heck, you’re probably even related to one or two of them. I am. My great-grandparents fit the general depiction of hoarders, and I loathed visiting them because of it. Thankfully, they’re dead now (oh, I’m already going to Hell so why not excel at it?). But when they were alive, my grandma would bribe me with a McDonald’s Happy Meal on the condition that I would save it to eat while she had a short visit with her in-laws. I’m still unconvinced this was a fair trade-off.
Usually, I wasn’t permitted to explore any other parts of their house other than the front room, but I do remember going out to the backyard once or twice. It wasn’t so much a yard as it was a make-shift swap meet. The garage was separate from the house itself and my great-grandparents had strung up a large, green tarp to cover the outside area. Obviously, they didn’t want their precious refuse to be exposed to the elements. Duh. They had extraneous furniture that couldn’t fit in the house anymore placed outside so they could heap more crap on top of it. Sure the junk was relatively organized into various identifiable stacks (e.g., newspapers, magazines, shoe boxes, etc.), but garbage is still garbage even if you arrange it neatly.
I remember being worried that one of the giant pillars of newspapers might come crashing down on top of great-grandma or great-grandpa, trapping them until the other one found a phone to call for help. I seriously considered buying them a Life-Alert system with my allowance money (“Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!). Once, I tried to eat a piece of candy from the candy dish they kept on the table in the front room, but my grandma nearly smacked it out of my hand before I could unwrap it and put it in my mouth. I faintly remember her telling me not to eat anything I found in my great-grandparents house, and to stick to the food I’d brought with me. You know that’s some sketchy shit if McDonald’s is a healthier alternative. But that was cool by me because I’d seen some pretty scary looking jars full of unidentifiable substances in their kitchen. You don’t have to tell me twice. But now, looking back, I realize they were definitely hoarders albeit tidy ones. My grandma explained to me they kept all that junk because they’d survived the Great Depression and learned to never throw anything away. I just thought they were crazy.
And that’s the thing about these people on Hoarders. Are they really crazy? Or are they just LAZY? I think it’s a little of both. I mean, you’ve got to be slightly touched in the head to keep drawers full of empty wine bottles for safe keeping. Right? Plus, these people have obvious visceral reactions to having the trash taken out of their home. The producers of the program send along a psychiatrist (absolutely necessary) and what can only be described as a “special forces” garbage collecting crew to rid these homes of their vile and potentially dangerous contents. Each and every scrap of paper, empty can, and broken floor tile piece has to be “Okayed” before it’s tossed. As you can imagine, this is a long and arduous process that takes DAYS to complete. I think they should just douse the place with gasoline and light a match to those pig sties, but apparently there’s some sort of healing process or something the hoarder has to deal with so he or she doesn’t end up in this same situation a few months down the road. Whatever. You KNOW they’re going to do it again.
Personally, I just don’t get it. I’m not OCD organized, but there’s no way in HELL I’d let filth fester in my home. If I make a mess, I clean it up. Put it away. Toss it. Just get it out of my house. Otherwise, you could end up like the cat lady hoarder. I won’t even discuss with you what they found in her stacks of shit. The very thought of it makes me want to go take another shower. *shiver*
Share: Facebook | Digg | Del.icio.us | StumbleUpon | Reddit | Blinklist | Twitter | Technorati | Newsvine | Permalink
