His name is Head. Dick Head

THE other evening I called my landlord a few names his mother hadn’t thought up. I also encouraged his exit from my attic. I believe he missed a few steps on the way down, owing to the momentum he acquired suddenly.

If you ask me, Dick -- let’s call him that, shall we? –- got what he deserved. He is actually an old woman masquerading as a middle-aged man. Not just any old woman, but a nitpicky one with an abnormally large nose, who routinely runs her hand under my kitchen utensils to see if they are clean, and goes on all fours to see if there is a speck of dirt on the inside edge of the cavity under my loose floorboard.

Dick likes to leave me little notes demanding a ‘good clean’ of this or that. A few weeks ago he was alarmed at a solitary bluebottle that came in through my open window.

“I think that bin area needs a good clean,” he said. “I came up here to get something and there was a bluebottle! Boy, if that starts laying eggs in your food, you are in big trouble!”

This time he surpassed himself. The oven was ‘dirty’, there was ‘grease’ on the kitchen stand, and the area beneath the doormat could do with ‘a good clean’. He stuck his note into the oven, left it wide open, pulled the mat to one side, and did a few other endearing things -- to ensure I didn’t miss any of the ‘dirt’. He also came up in person to have ‘a good talk’.

Which is when I told him to bugger off and words happened and I, ah, evicted him.

BUT since Dick is an old English lady (who most certainly ran a boarding house at some point), and I am an English gentleman now, we did it the English way.

Which is a bit different from the Indian way. As you will see:

[Enter Dick, humming.]

Dick: Chindu, did you see my note?

Me: Yes, I did. (Yeah… and you can shove it.)

Dick: The oven was a bit dirty, you know. (It was bloody filthy!)

Me: Oh, was it? I am sorry you found it that way. (How DARE you snoop inside my kitchen!)

Dick: It could do with a good clean, you know. For hygiene reasons. (You better clean it up.)

Me: I think it is clean, Dick. (I will be darned if I do!)

Dick: I am not so sure, Chindu. And if you allow those carry bags to accumulate in that corner, the next thing you know there will be rodents. (Clean it!)

Me: Actually I am fine with them there -- the carry bags, I mean. And Dick, I do believe you need to give me some room for decisions like this. (This is MY kitchen, you dunderhead. Bugger off!)

Dick: Of course. I am just saying that for your own good. Also, I live downstairs, so it will be good for both of us. Perhaps you are not aware of the hygienic requirements in this country… (This is MY house. And I want it MY way!)

Me: Oh, I am quite aware of it, Dick. And I am certain this meets those requirements. (You are now seriously pissing me off, asshole. Fuck off!)

Dick: I am sorry. I disagree with you on that. (You are the asshole!)

Me: I quite like the way things are, Dick. (Fuck off!)

Dick: Well, you can decide what you want to do about it, certainly… whether you would like to continue staying here. It’s entirely up to you. (I want you out of my house, you bastard.)

Me: Thank you. I will think about it. (Fuck off!)

Dick: I am sorry to have bothered you about this. (I WANT YOU OUT OF HERE!)

Me: Oh, that’s all right. (FUCK OFF!)

Dick: Goodnight then, Chindu. (ASSHOLE!)

Me: Goodnight, Dick. (UP YOURS!)

[Exit Dick, not humming.]

Um, anyone got a vacant room?