So today I had my first inspection at my new apartment. I have had a couple before - always in Perth, never in Sydney, since real estate agents in Sydney have better things to do than pry into people’s personal lives - and the people inspecting my apartment have always said “no problems.” That is, they leave a note saying “no problems,” because I would rather absent myself during such proceedings. However, when I came home tonight, there was a note saying (of all things!) “please tidy up a bit more for inspections.” Obviously, I am completely hurt and boiling with rage. The nerve!

Seriously though, I am not sure of the purpose of this note, nor how to respond to it. I can, of course, see that they may have a point. If you have been to one of my apartments you will know that I am by no means King of Neatness and Archduke of Tidytown. I tend to leave stuff scattered everywhere, simply because it pleases me not to have to open a cupboard or a draw to get things when I want them. It’s not mess per se, but a form of organisation that makes full use of the available space on benches, tables, chairs and the floor. You will notice that my cupboards are, by contrast, basically empty. So there is a degree of untidiness which, to the naked eye, may be interpreted as the product of laziness rather than, as I have cogently argued, a verve for efficiency. However, having said that, there is no dirt. Nor mould, nor rubbish, nor odour. The apartment itself is in perfect condition, regardless of the haphazard manner in which its contents are arranged. Therefore, I can only interpret this note as an attempt to “improve” me as a person, by demanding that I adopt more conventional habits with regards to the way I use the space in my apartment. The subtext would thus appear to read:

“dear Mark, you are clearly not a derelict or a man-monkey. Nonetheless, this place could use a ‘woman’s touch,’ so to speak. I mean, why don’t you just put things away? Learn to be tidy? Make it an everyday thing, and before long you will be doing it automatically. I mean, if your grandmother came over and had a look at this, don’t you think she might be mildly disappointed? You should really just try to be more like other people. Or at least try to put on a better show for inspection day. Because, you know… I have authority over how you live your life. It may be a vague and nebulous authority, and it’s certainly not written into your lease agreement, but it’s there. So suck it, lowly tenant. Bye! PS: Beware my wrath.”

Now my problem, as I stated earlier, is how to respond to such a stinging rebuke. I am inclined to feel an injustice has been done, since the manner of my habitation is exactly what one would expect from a single, male student in the middle of completing his doctorate - perhaps even a bit better, for that matter. Moreover, I possess a couple of rather unfortunate personal characteristics: the first being that I tend to cling, if rather tentatively, to the notion that people ought to accept me as I am, and the second being that I cannot stand arbitrary and pointless exercises of authority. These difficulties mean that I am unlikely to do any more cleaning before inspection day than I would do normally, and am therefore bound to receive more barbed missives from real estate agents in the future. That would be distressing - especially since, as I mentioned, I am not entirely sure that people ought to accept me as I am. Perhaps I should change? This evening I did some additional tidying and found it somewhat gratifying. But to change my ways would leave me with the inevitable feeling that I have suffered some great moral defeat. Should I trade my pride for a complimentary slip of paper? And even then, the apartment might still be deemed unsatisfactory, in which case I shall have neither pride nor paper. I will be left disconsolate and with the impression of having been violated. Which, one would suppose, is the ultimate goal and satisfaction of all real estate agents.

Perhaps, if I have made my mind up to give in to this harassment, I should at least be clear on the standards required. I therefore submit the following questions:

Do the benches have have to be empty?
Can there be things on the table? Are postcards okay? How about a jumper?
Do I need to make the bed? (If so, how is that done?)
Do the cables of my computer have to be… straighter?
Is it okay to leave a Playstation controller on the floor in front of the tv?
Can there be soapy buildup in the soap holder in the shower?
Is it wrong to have a ukelele on the couch?
Given that the back of a chair is almost certainly the wrong place to dry a towel, what would be an acceptable alternative?

And, unless these questions can be answered, how am I to prepare? The most rigorous professor in the world could not set an exam without giving in advance a reasonably specific account of the knowledge required in order to pass. Yet, here I am. With neither moral fortitude nor the knowledge required in order to get out of having to show moral fortitude. In short, helpless.