I Have A Question

I have a question.  Several, actually, but I'm going to try to whittle it down a bit.  I've been logging a little bit of time with some of the various hoarding shows on cable TV.  I don't remember if it was regular Hoarders or Extreme Hoarders or All-American Hoarders or what, but it was one of those.  For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, well, I envy you.  But it's basically what it sounds like.  It's a show about people who hoard things.  Not obsessively collecting things.  No, hoarding.  Hoarding is like collecting, only it's with  completely useless crap.  And sometimes, the word 'crap' is used literally.  I'll wait while you ponder that.  Got it?  Let's move on. 

So the person is usually essentially trapped in their house because of all of their hoarding.  It starts with the show spending the first bit of time kind of getting to know the person and examining their situation.  Then comes the part that I really don't understand.  The voice over says something about how they're going to bring in a consultant to help the hoarder with their problem.   

A consultant?!  What the hell is there to consult about?!  "Your place is a mess.  What say you clean it up?"  There!  I just consulted with every single person that has been featured on every single show.  A consultant?!  "Hey, Jim.  I've noticed that you're kind of up to your neck in feces and newspapers over here.  Um, what say we tidy up a little bit and throw this crap out?"  Was that so  hard?!  A consultant?!  Are you kidding me?! 

I guess that they have to call it something.  Everyone needs a title or something like that?  I just find the idea of an actual consultant to be highly amusing.  OK, I think I'm done here.

Sphere: Related Content

There's Someone For Everyone

I think I'm fairly convinced that there is someone out there for everyone. No matter what your little quirks may be, no matter how deranged you are, no matter if you're dumber than a box of hair, there is someone out there just for you, my friend! Just for you! And thanks to the wonderful invention of tubes and pipes that is otherwise known as the Internet, you actually have a fairly decent chance of finding that one person on the planet who will put up with your sorry ass. It doesn't matter what your interests are or what you, personally, are like, there are others out there like you. A passion for stamp collecting? They're out there. Crazy about model trains? They're out there. Fornicating with livestock? Unfortunately, they're out there too. (And from what I can tell, in disturbingly large numbers at that.) But the point is they're there! They're there and they're for you!

But alas, if only the Internet could always come to the rescue and salvation of those who need it the most. If it could have, things might have been different for at least two lives out there. Well, they were lives. Not so much anymore. And it's a shame. But they would have been perfect for each other with a capital 'P'. Per-fec-to.

A couple of weeks ago we heard the tale of a one Gordon Stewart who had died in his own home after becoming disoriented in the tunnels (yes, tunnels!) or garbage (yes, garbage!) that ran through his home (yes, his home!). He was unable to find his way out of his Habitrail of Refuse and, sadly, died in there. The man had a hard time parting with things, he did. He didn't throw anything away and always came home with more stuff. (That information gleaned from his neighbors who were less than helpful due to their inability to supply useful information during the interview process.) Bags upon bags and piles upon piles of stuff, stuff and more stuff.

Now, the mind of a hoarder is an interesting one. As you would imagine, it's very full in there! I don't know what it is that compels them to keep every single thing ever, to the point where they are crawling around through a maze-like structure in their own home as if it were some trash labyrinth over there in Greece (minus the Minotaur and naked warriors). Whatever it is, I'm sure that it's the same sort of compulsion that drives another sort of hoarder to shop and shop and keep on shopping. Right up until the inevitable, and in this case, deadly, little slogan comes to mind. That's right. Shop 'til you drop. Or until things drop on you. Either way, after it happens, you're dead. And buried. But not in the ground. No, underneath the stuff in your own house that fell on top of you and killed you. Wait. What?

Correct. Another death attributable to the inexplicable hoarding of more stuff than any one person (or any one small third world country) should ever have in their lifetime. Now, the Mail Online has taken to referring to a one 77-year old Joan Cunnane as "The Spinster Shopaholic". (I don't think I will be following suit, but figured I'd throw it in because, well, it is kinda funny.) And really, that sort of an unflattering moniker is really unnecessary as she's dead and not by what I would call "natural causes" either. No, this sweet looking older woman was crushed by a falling tower of suitcases in her home when she went into a way too full closet to look for God only knows what. What ever it was, she definitely didn't see the toppling suitcases right before they crushed her.

She had crammed so much crap into her bungalow that she only had a 2 foot wide path to get around. And as wrong as that sounds, I'm giving her credit for not having tunnels! That's a good thing! Naturally, she had a garage filled to the top with stuff AND she also took the extra step of having her CAR also piled full of stuff. Sort of like a portable storage unit.

Initially, when the cops went in they did not find her. (The neighbors became concerned because her car, which was usually tooling her off to purchase more items she didn't need, had sat in her driveway for a day. So that means that every single day she was off shopping and buying. Ugh. I can barely bring myself to leave the house to go Christmas shopping. I can't imagine going willingly every day. I'd have to shoot myself. Or wait until a stack of suitcases fell on to of me. Either one.) They couldn't find her why? Too much stuff, that is correct.

Now, I've been known to have a difficult time finding my car keys on occasion. Sometimes it's because the joint is a mess. (Sometimes it's because I'm a moron and my keys are in my pocket.) And it is frustrating as hell looking for a set of keys in a place that has more than 2 feet wide paths to walk through! And when they're found, they're usually next to something that has obscured my view. But they're keys! Little keys. The cops had their view so obscured in this lady's home that it didn't impair them from finding keys, it impaired them from finding HER. The lady! When you can't find a whole human being in your place, it's time to get a Swiffer or call Merry Maids or something because there's an issue!

When the cops initially could not find her "An expert search team and environmental health officers were also called in to help." Translation: Environmental Health = Hazmat. Also, "There was stuff in every room - it was so bad there were concerns about the police dogs going in." They think that they were concerned about the dogs going in? How do you think the dogs felt? They went in once and sniffed around and the dogs who are trained to sniff couldn't sniff her out from under all of that stuff. (Which kind of makes me wonder how effective these dogs are. Aren't they supposed to sniff things out that can't be seen? I don't need a sniffing dog to help me find someone that I can see! But if they can't find the ones I can't see, what good are they? Did they fire these dogs after this debacle?)

According to the name callers at the Mail Online, "The house was stacked with brand-new umbrellas, candles, ornaments, trinkets, clothes and electrical items, many of them unopened, as well as piles of videotapes." Videotapes? Good Lord, ma'am. Couldn't you have at least hoarded stuff from this century? DVDs perhaps? Maybe a cache of memory sticks? Did she have a pallet of Beta tapes also? Some 8-tracks (complete with all of the K-TEL collections)? Videotapes. Go figure.

A one Ray Moran, who describes himself as her closest friend (Translation: Probably doing it. Just on occasion! Nothing wrong with that.), said, "I think it just gave her pleasure to buy things - none of it was really essential. I once asked her how many scarves she had. She said she thought about 300. I asked her why she needed that many. She said they were all different colours." You think? You really think she enjoyed buying all of that stuff? You're sure she wasn't going out and willingly torturing herself every single day by buying stuff? Of course she enjoyed it! Why must people state the obvious or the ridiculous when quoted for these stories? Yes, we gathered she enjoyed shopping for things when we read she had been smashed by suitcases! We got it! (300 scarves? Was she learning how to do magic as well? Did they find a stash of "How To" books?)

It once took four hours and a neighbor's help to empty Ms. Cunnane's car out when it had to go have some work done. The neighbor said that, "There were six umbrellas, ornaments, pots, IKEA candle holders and an oil heater which was very heavy." (Enough with the weights and measures. Relevance? Oh, right. None! Stop it.)The neighbor also that that, "....Miss Cunnane was a deeply private lady who would not even open the door to the postman." Um, no. Not quite. Let me rephrase. Miss Cunnane was a lady who was embarrassed by the amount of stuff that she had purchased and would not open the door for the postman because she couldn't due to all of the stuff that was in the way. Yeah, it's amazing how people that are embarrassed or ashamed don't exactly go around advertising it and tend to withdraw away from others. (Which really doesn't sound like a bad idea, as most people are morons.)

Now, in the picture of her in her Deals on Wheels car there, I'm confused by what appears to be a backpack of some sort up against the windshield, on top of the steering wheel on the driver's side of the vehicle. Why is that there? What is it? How can she see? And while I'm at it, why was someone taking a picture of her in her car like that? Who does that?

The point here, other than never have so much stuff that the cops won't be able to find your body, is that this woman, this seemingly nice, friendly woman was lonely. And she went out shopping to fill that void. Why she couldn't just go out, look around and then go back home is beyond me. But if she had managed to hook up with the Mole Man, they would have been a match made in Hoarder's Heaven! Granted, there wouldn't have been a place big enough for the both of them and all of their stuff. And it's hard to say how she would take to all of the crawling around his place, but I highly doubt she'd be judgmental about it. She probably just would have been happy to have someone to talk to. These two would have been perfect. It's a shame they couldn't have hooked up whilst they were down here corralling their containers of crap.

What have we learned? I think we've learned that if you're going to hoard so much crap that it could eventually play a major role in your ultimate demise, always carry your cell phone with you. Oh, and check the Internet for other hoarders in your area because if you guys are lonely (and how could you not be, as you can't even make it out of your house in time to save your life!) I don't know how else you're ever going to find someone else that you can be comfortable with. (Actually, I don't know how you folks can ever get comfortable surrounded by thousands of videotapes. That makes me uncomfortable just thinking about it.)

The Internet. Is there anything it can't do?

Sphere: Related Content

The Mole Man of Broughton, Bucks

I can understand if someone let's things pile up to the point of it being inconvenient and not really all that tidy. That I get. What I don't get is why or how it continues to get worse to the point of incapacitation. When you start to run out of room to walk around in your own home because of all of your "stuff", wouldn't you sit down (provided you could find someplace to sit down) and say to yourself, "Self, this place is a hole. And you can't remember if the floors are hardwood or carpet because it's been so long since you've seen them. Perhaps, Self, you should think about downsizing your belongings so that you don't have to leap over things as if you're competing in the Steeplechase at the Olympics." You would say that. I would say that. Apparently Gordon Stewart would not say that.

Mr. Stewart was 74 when he was found dead inside his home last Friday over there across the pond in Broughton, Bucks (I guess that's in the UK somewhere). It is believed that the man died from dehydration. How does one die from dehydration in their own home, you ask? Good question. Apparently, Mr. Stewart was the epitome of a compulsive hoarder and became (wait for it) "...disorientated inside the walls of rotting trash and unable to find a way out " according to the folks over there at The Sun. Oh, just wait. It gets better. Er, worse. Mr. Stewart "...hoarded so much rubbish he had to burrow through it to get around his home--then got lost in the maze of tunnels and died of thirst." Now. Wait. WTF??

First of all, how big is this place that he was able to have freaking garbage tunnels throughout?! He was the Human Mole! Look at the picture below. It doesn't look very big. Well, it doesn't look big enough to have an elaborate labyrinth weaving through it. But a neighbor was quoted as saying, "A police officer said the interior was piled up with huge mounds of rotting rubbish and there was an elaborate network of tunnels to move around." And I suppose the police would know because "the stench from the rubbish was so foul they brought in a police diving team equipped with breathing apparatus. " Translation: Scuba gear. Good Lord, sir......

Now, with really bizarre stories like this, I prefer it if the articles that are reporting on this sort of thing try to stick with information that is not a) irrelevant or b) ridiculous. For instance, "Yesterday, full plastic bags could be seen piled in the front window." OK, I highly doubt it was just yesterday that one could see those bags! Look at them! Behold! Garbage! And lots of it!

Then there was this little gem: "Thames Valley Police said there were no suspicious circumstances." Define 'suspicious' for me, would ya please? Because while it may not be "suspicious", as in "We don't need to go running for Sherlock Holmes or anything", it is "suspicious" as in "What the hell??"

Another neighbor (who would seem to be one of many neighbors who felt the need to make asinine statements) said, “He was slightly eccentric, but very clever. He lived in his own world.” What the hell does that mean?! Oh, I get the second part. The "He lived in his own world" is very clear to me! Yes! Yes, he did! He lived in a world where garbage has taken over and rules the earth! Yes, that's his and his only! But you can't have a statement where the "but" part of it doesn't have anything to do with the first part of it, ie "eccentric, but very clever." Eccentricity doesn't have anything to do with being clever or not. I'd imagine that he was a clever bloke, as one would have to be to figure out how in the hell you're going to keep navigating through your trash tunnels. But that has nothing to do with being eccentric. (Actually, neither does hoarding all of the trash, but that's beside the point here.) It's like saying, "He was a very good swimmer, but he did not care for steak."

The same moron who noted Mr. Stewart's "eccentricity" also said that " He was just a collector. He came home with a load of cardboard boxes..." Dude, er, ol' chap, people that have one of every Beanie Baby ever made are "collectors". People that have one of every DC Comic ever made are "collectors". (They are also the "unlayable".) The Mole Man wasn't a "collector". He was, in my never to be humble opinion, mentally ill. Tell me, exactly what was he a "collector" of, my good man? Crap? He had the largest crap collection that side of Big Ben? Nobody has, nor wants, a crap collection. The man had mental issues and it's unfortunate, given the fact that you could see piles of his "crap collection" piled up in front of his windows, that no one could have checked on the guy, made a call to some social service division, something. But no, they just let him keep "collecting" and going about his "eccentricities" (which would appear to include tunneling through the garbage like a gopher in one's own abode) and now he's dead and the only thing he's "collecting" now is dust. (Also collecting dust is that car in his garage below that hasn't been touched in years. What is that? A Studebaker?)

And capping off the idiotic commentary on this story is "It is believed Mr Stewart lived alone and has no next of kin." Oh, you think?! (You morons.) Are ya sure?? Have you gone through all of the tunnels? He could have a whole family of burrowers in there. Oh, I'm sorry, I mean "collectors" in there. My mistake. Now THAT would be eccentric!

I can't help but marvel at the fact that it's a two story house that he lived in. Did it have tunnels going upstairs as well as around the downstairs? It would be like one big human Habitrail if it did. Was there a big pile of shredded up newspaper that he used for a nest to sleep in? (Or to warm his young on cold evenings.) Maybe there's a big wheel in there that he ran around in! Oh, I know he would have gotten plenty of exercise just from crawling through the filth all the time, but sometimes you want a change. Something different, you know?

Assuming that Mr. Stewart did have failing mental faculties during the last part of his life (you know, the part with all of the garbage and tunnels), you have to admit that if it wasn't garbage that he was tunneling through, it sounds kinda fun. A big house full of tunnels to crawl around in all day long. It'd be like a giant fort, only without the cushions from the couch and the blankets from your bed. Just substitute "garbage" for "cushions and blankets" though and it's practically the same. Maybe the guy needed a little amusement in his life. Sounds pretty much like his neighbors left his ass alone. He might have just been trying to pass the time. I just wish he hadn't done it in squalor and I wish he hadn't done it in a way where he couldn't find his way out and died of thirst.

What have we learned? If we see piles of garbage accruing in our neighbors windows, do something. Anything. Don't ignore it and pass it off as and eccentric collector of plastic bags. What else have we learned? Right now, every one of you who just read this is thinking about how cool it would be to go build a fort out of the couch cushions and the blankets from your bed. Admit it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to go watch some TV in my fort.

Sphere: Related Content