First, a warning to owners of real estate: if you have tenants, this series of photos is going to give you nightmares.
Here’s the text from a posting on a forum at Houston-Imports.com:
This has nothing to do with the Hurricane. We had a resident who had an outstanding balance for over a month and no one could get ahold of her. The Bookkeeper went inside after so many tries to leave a note and this is what we found:
I’ve posted some of the photos below. For the whole set, go see the original posting.
Here’s the entrance. This does not bode well…
In the living room, we see that the if you remove the middle cushion from a couch, you’ve got a handy built-in trash can. And who needs an ashtray when you’ve got an armrest?
If you thought that the living room was loaded with trash, it’s nothing compared to the bedroom.
Here’s the computer. It looks as though the tenant uses the mouse way more than they keyboard.
I’ve saved the worst for last: the bathroom. The toilet looks out of commission, which probably means that the bucket was its replacement.
According to the post, there are supposed to be two cats in the apartment, but they haven’t been able to find them. Needless to say, the stench is powerful.
How do people end-up living like this? Mental illness? Crystal meth? Extreme laziness?
8 replies on “House Like a Hole”
It actually is a mental illness – look up hoarding. However, I would also not entirely *rule out* crystal meth or another recreational drug.
Reminds me of this other guy’s “crazy” mom, whose crazyness means she keeps buying stuffs from eBay.
http://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=830487
It’s all clean, but still a mess.
I wonder if this person only eats and drinks from the same place, the white with orange stripes where she/he has all the bags and cups from. What place is it, anyway? They look like 7-11 cups but the colours don’t fit.
I think it’s more accurately called living in squalor.
It’s a mental illness, related to OCD, which doesn’t seem to make sense, but the OCD in this case is hoarding trash (rather than obsessively cleaning, which a previous roommate of mine used to do. I guess in the end I’d still rather live with someone who sprays Lysol on my dinner than someone who puts out cigarettes on top of the computer.)
My house is pretty darn tiday, but suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to go home and spend the entire afternoon cleaning.
I love the fire extinguisher on the coffee table. It says, “I care about fire safety. And you should too.”
Lots of Whataburger, Taco Cabana and Shipley Donuts, gotta love Houston.