It happens every day and I have to walk out of the room every time – because the urge to swipe the knife out of their hands and do it myself is too much.
Living with seven other students, waiting in line to do the washing up is a given. Meal prep over, plate of food consumed, hunger well and truly dealt with, there was a time when I once enjoyed taking a minute to appreciate the feeling of a satisfied stomach before heading to the sink to ready the crockery for the next serving of grub.
But this is in the past.
I relive the scene every day: housemate demolishes food, legs extend to push chair way from table, buttock raises from seat – the action which indicates a journey to the sink is under way. It’s at this point that I ready myself for what is to come next.
The tap is turned, the washing up liquid is in possession and from here on in the harmonious joining of water and suds takes place on the bowl that was filled with tuna pasta.
The washing up is being done right, so what’s the big deal?
The adjective scrubbing is yet to be mention for a good reason, because this is my point – it doesn’t happen! Soap is squeezed on to the object decorated with culinary remains, only to be moved about in teeny circular motions with an index finger.
Spectating is simply unbearable.
As pathetic as it is to be irritated by half-hearted washing up efforts, the fact of the matter is that if just a bit of window-wiper action was applied to task, it would take half the time.
For some, washing dishes is unentered territory and I should be grateful that the labour is being done and this is acknowledged. But come on, does cleaning a plate really have to take three minutes.
Well, I don’t think so.