Hoarder, part 1 of several, no cliffhangers

For the nth time beyond counting, the week before last, I tripped over a stack of boxes in the living room and calmly said, as I gathered myself into a standing position, "That's it." I looked up companies that work with hoarders, telling myself the lie, really, I'm not that bad, but still, no self-respecting house cleaner would step foot into my house.

I found one right off the bat, Address Our Mess, out of Baltimore. One of the owners lives in a Jersey shore town, so I figured they might service my area. As it turns out, they are wide-ranging.

I called and talked to the psychologist/receptionist, Sally, who told me the owner would be calling me with an estimate. I knew right away it was going to cost a lot - thousands of dollars - and I was right. I also figured I would be talking to Sally frequently during regular meltdowns. Much to my surprise, my hard-hearted self asserted herself and no rescuing was involved.

It all went amazingly fast. The local owner called me, told me the price, let me gasp over it for a little while, and a date was set. I would only have to take one day off work, although it ended up being two at my request. Initially the crew was set to come in for two days but when I saw the amazing changes they made in my house, I called them back for a third day.

The house was bad. Really bad. Hoarders bad. Pet excrement throughout. Boxes piled up containing who knew what. Goat paths through the house, although I frequently found myself slipping and sliding on the papers at the bottom of the paths.

The web site emphasized their discretion. I found this curious. Then I realized how humiliating it would have been for my not-so-dear neighbors to see "HOARDING RESCUE" emblazoned on the side of the semi truck they drove up in.

There were three guys in the crew, A, B, and N. N was my sentimental favorite because he reminded me of the lanky, skinny, sweet guys I went to college with. A described himself as my "case manager". B was quiet and determined and not much of a conversationalist, but he worked like the devil was behind him.

They began bringing in equipment. One huge thing was an "air cleaner" and it made a hell of a racket. There were bottles of A's Special Solution, mixed with a degreaser, a detergent, bleach, and Fabuloso. I must look into this Fabuloso stuff. And there were - I hung my head in shame - shovels. Big, deep, steel shovels. And they were employed in the cleanup effort. Also, did you know that big, deep garbage bags come in industrial size rolls? I know, because at least three of them were brought into my house. Not just individual garbage bags, but rolls of garbage bags.

At first I was mortified that everyone was wearing a mask but was doubly mortified to learn that if there had been fleas in the house (there aren't now, although there briefly were), they would have had to wear biohazard suits. Not quite so discreet.

I learned, too, that as bad as my house was, it wasn't as bad as others. A asked, "Does the kitchen sink work?" Well, yeah. "Does the toilet work?" Of course it does! And as far as keeping things, very early on, A came across a shard of broken glass. He held it up to me. Keep? "Out!" I said.

In fact, I said "Out!" quite a lot. I found someplace out of the way to sit while they worked and occasionally N, especially N, would bring an object to me. More often than not, my response: "Oh, gross, are you kidding? Get that out of here!" N grinned and said, "I like working with you. You get rid of things."

Hell's bells, yes, I do. Why am I paying you so much money if I'm going to thwart the process? Out, out, out, damned spot. Spots. Blotches. Out! There were only two instances when I retrieved something from the trash. My grandfather's diary from 1949 and a curtain rod. I have a really hard time picking out curtain rods, and I liked these when I bought them, like, ten years ago.

More to come. I can't cover all of this - and it feels monumental - in the space of an hour at Panera.
If I can't somehow make it to the Interwebz before them, Merry Chrismakwanzukah.