There is nothing about Italy that I won’t miss. Of course I’m looking forward to people always understanding me, knowing exactly where I’m going and how I am going to get there, and I really am so looking forward to butter. They never use butter here.. so American of me to crave movie popcorn and butter on my toast or in mashed potatoes, but I don’t care!
The one thing that I can not wait to never have to cross again is my roommate Bianca. I’m not saying this at all to be caddy, or mean, but plain and simple, I will not miss living with her for a second.
However, I already look back and laugh at how I used hand lotion for two weeks instead of hand soap because even though being half Italian and living here for two years, she couldn’t tell she was buying lotion instead of soap.
The inner Danville almost came out in me today ( Danville being my hometown and notorious for the ratchets and thug life, all of which I am proud to have been raised around) because I have never in my life lived or shared space with someone so messy, hate to say it, but gross, and has troll like tendencies. What are troll like tendencies? : living among other girls and staying in the bedroom as if one is a hermit, cooking dinner and not cleaning the mess, cooking with oil and allowing it to splatter all over the ceramic back-splash and stove, buying lotion and not soap, making odd noises and weird laughter morning noon at night with no one else but her computer, using all of the WiFi and being on her computer religiously, putting on pajamas at 1:30 in the afternoon after her class, slumping around when living in one of the most beautiful and magical cities on this earth, and a lot more that would be so much funnier if I could describe it in person.
She is a nice girl. She has told me and my roommates many stories that make me question her morality and if she even possesses morals, but who am I to judge! So I won’t.
Today however, may have been the most excited to go home as I have ever been since being here.
Both Marissa and Paola are in Amalfi Coast (my dream destination, costs too much for me to afford) leaving me alone with Bianca on my last weekend in Florence. I made friends with Mari, a girl from Brazil who goes to school full time here and is by far one of my most favorite people I have ever encountered, she is awesome. And ended up going to the MTV awards with her last night. Crazy right? I didn’t watch them in my living room, I went to the awards show for free. It was the Italian MTV awards and I knew like two songs and had no idea what was going on, but definitely something worth experiencing.
So I decided after having a lazy Friday, and a somewhat busy Saturday that today I would be productive. My mom will love this next part. After living here for five weeks and trying my best to clean this apartment that looks as if it had never really been cleaned before… I attacked it. With soap and water and without rubber gloves, with brooms, and mops, and buckets and Dave Matthews and Al Green playing all the while. I did laundry, washed the disgusting rugs I can’t believe I let go until now. I scrubbed the oil that had been caked on that stove for what must have been 15 years, I mean I gave this apartment a cleaning I don’t think has been done to it since students have lived here. And I was and still am so proud of how squeaky clean it is.
What does this have to do with Bianca?! As previously stated Bianca has troll like tendencies, meaning that there is never any cleaning involved. Maybe a rinse of her skillet and then left on the same burner for use the next day (drives me crazy, there are cupboards for a reason. If not then we might as well leave our glasses in the fridge next to the milk carton for the next use right?!)
I’ve never said anything though, I don’t mind cleaning up after her if it’s a few things and I’m doing the dishes anyway.
After mopping, I go to take out the dirty water and dump it outside. So I open our apartment door, leave it open and walk into the apartment building hallway and open the entry door and step outside and pour out the water. Just in time to spin around and watch the door close in my face. I had no keys, no shoes, and a bright neon orange bucket. It was close to 90 degrees outside today, so the stone was scolding hot. I’m tip toeing around in disbelief looking around to see if anyone noticed what I just did. At this point my feet are burning so I have to step into the dirty water puddle so that I don’t burn the bottoms of my feet. I run around the building to Bianca’s window and knock and yell and knock some more. I didn’t think she was home because her door was shut and it was dark underneath her door. So I gave up and slump back to the entry door trying to figure out how to get in. I’m standing there with my bucket and in a dress and no shoes and all of a sudden realize I have my bandana tied around my head with a bow up top. Looking like I stepped directly out of a Cinderella movie, so I rip it off my head, noticing some guy laughing and staring at me because he knows I’m locked out.
I keep looking in the distance for Bianca or listening to see if anyone is inside and walking out. Then the light bulb turns on. We have doorbells! Doorbells for each apartment. So I ring one. Nothing. I ring two more. Nothing. I’m hoping that someone will come down and let me in or open the door to see who’s there, or just unlock the door. I ring a couple more, and then try the same ones over again, and I questioned in my head if all the tenants knew I was locked out and were upstairs giggling to themselves because I was so American in that moment. I try one more when I’m about to cry, and the door opens. The lady who lives across from me had her head sticking out the door, and I motioned that I was locked out, said thank you and sorry and she just laughed. I walk into my apartment, and there… in the newly cleaned kitchen, stooped on a plastic green chair, head hanging low and eyes focused on her computer screen sat Bianca. I almost fell over.
Here I was outside for 20 minutes jumping on my toes and yelling and knocking and ringing doorbells, and there she was, perched like always at her seat watching some girl drama series.
I said “Wait, you’re here?! You didn’t hear me knocking at your window and yelling your name, or hear me right outside the kitchen window?”
“Oh, you were outside? No I didn’t hear a thing!” She giggles. As if something is funny.
I said “Yeah I was locked out for like twenty minutes.” She said sorry and I said it was no big deal even though I was livid inside.
I hurry and clean up and get myself together because I have church in like 30 mins at this point. I run into the kitchen to grab the trash and take it with me, it’s on the way to Santa Croce and here you take your trash to the bins. I notice her stupid skillet sitting out. I see oil on the stove, and utensils laying on the counter covered in whatever she ate. I didn’t have time to say anything or clean anything, so I just grabbed the trash can from under the sink. Well what do you know, the trash is piled as high as the can itself. She sits there yelling “AH! NOOOOO. No he didn’t! Gasping at whatever was happening on the show. I’m struggling to pull the garbage out, and she sees this, and sits there and says nothing. I grab a new bag myself and get it all together, and leave the apartment huffing and puffing and carrying three bags.
I step out into the hallway, and the biggest bag breaks. Then I scream. And I stomp. And I rummage for my keys, unlock the door, fly into the apartment and grab another bag, and yell “I’m not the maid of this place!” And slam the door and clean up the garbage and clean off the rug outside. And then I march to Santa Croce, drop off the trash, head towards church, all to be stopped by the police who are guarding the Piazza because a huge soccer tournament is going on and they’ve closed down the Piazza except for those who have tickets. I couldn’t go to church. I was so upset. I was already late and any of the other churches were 20 minutes walking distance.
So I head back home and pick up myself a bottle of beer and stride through the apartment, clean the remainder of Bianca’s dishes and decide that my act of grace to try and replace missing church will be me refraining from yelling, arguing, and or becoming violent (I would never be violent, really, I would like to think I could be). And I make myself dinner, finish chores, do a little homework, and then a couple hours later I just start laughing at this whole day.
Like I said, I’m looking forward to being away from her style of living, but this whole thing makes for some really good stories, and I’m actually thankful they all happened. I don’t think that I could appreciate all the amazing things I’ve done and seen without having a few hiccups here and there to fully realize it.