When I buy expensive things, I have certain expectations. Namely that they will last. This goes double for expensive things that should not have been expensive in the first place—things like mops. This past weekend I spent €30 on one and it turned out to be such a hunk of junk that I might as well have thrown that money right out the window. I mean that literally too. Because throwing money would have been safer than what I actually did, which was throw the mop out the window.
One of my writing teachers once told me not to give away the whole story in the first few lines. I could hear him right now, preaching to the class: “Build the story up. Don’t get to the punch line so easily.”
And often times he’s right. But not today. For once, a €30 mop head flying out a fourth story window and onto another tenant’s roof is not the punch line or even the climax of this story. It’s just the starting point.
And so, that is where we will begin: with me standing on my balcony in Helsinki, holding a mop handle, waving at a couple of teenagers on the street who happened to see it fall and then took off running like I had actually dropped a brick of cocaine.
As readers of this blog well know, I often find myself in unfortunate situations such as this. The saving grace is that I know how to get out of them. If not that, then I at least manage to tell a good story while I try. And because I am nothing if not gracious in my ability to fail up, today I am going to share some advice for how you can do the same.
First things first, when you are left unsupervised and somehow manage to mess up in an impossible way, do not be ashamed to ask for help. People who love you understand your weaknesses. Even if they don’t want to get involved in your problems, they accept that they have to. Some see it as a quiet resignation. I call it responsibility.
That said, when you have a mess that needs cleaning, it’s best to come to the table with a short list of solutions. It doesn’t matter how plausible they are. You just want to demonstrate that you put some thought into things. This will help prove that you’re just as good at solving problems as you are at creating them.
When presenting your options, start with the most ridiculous one. Make it complicated. Play up the potential for embarrassment. The more dangerous the better. This is a tactic that I like to call “Setting the bar.” And it’s the best way to demonstrate that there is such a thing as the “worst case scenario” and we haven’t even approached it.
For example, when I texted Johann, who was at work at the time, this is how I set the bar re: the lost mop.
I should note that when pitching ridiculous options, it’s important to keep your audience in mind. Generally speaking, hauling a recycling bin across the parking lot and climbing onto a stranger’s roof will not appeal to most people. But do consider who you’re talking to. Ask yourself: Does this person pride him- or herself on being self-sufficient? Does he or she have a vague disrespect for gravity? Can this person perform a reverse pull-up from a rain gutter?
If you answered yes to any of those questions, do not make my mistake – set the bar elsewhere. Because if you’re talking to a person who would rather fall into an open dumpster than ask a stranger to reach outside and pick up a mop, then you’re going to want to rethink your approach. Otherwise, you just might find yourself riding a recycling bin across a parking deck.
“OK,” Johann texted back.
I could not believe it. OK to rolling a trash can down the sidewalk? OK to climbing onto the roof? OK to performing a dismount onto concrete?
“Really?” I typed back. “You don’t want to just ask a neighbour instead?”
“I don’t think so,” he replied. “I’ll be home at 6. It will still be light out.”
Ah, yes. Because that’s what this plan needed: Daylight.
Luckily for me, Johann talked himself out of Operation Dumpster Fire before he even got to the front door.
“I’ll call the janitor tomorrow,” he said.
“And?” I asked. “What’s he going to do?”
“Well he probably has a ladder,” Johann pointed out.
I rolled my eyes. I had access to a ladder-like device too, this in the form of the recycling bin and an old chair. I thought we ruled that out.
“Well why don’t we go ask the neighbour,” I said. “It looks like you could reach the mop from his balcony.”
Johann winced. Texting the janitor for a ladder was one thing. Speaking face-to-face with a stranger was quite another.
“Come on,” I urged. “I would have done it already if I could explain myself in Finnish,” I said. For the record, most people in Helsinki speak at least some English. But I figured a situation like this was best explained in one’s native language. There’s too much that could be lost in translation when you tell someone there’s a mop on the roof.
“Maybe we could leave him a note saying that we might ring his bell in the next day or two,” Johann suggested.
“OR…” I countered. “OR maybe we could ring his bell now.” I didn’t see what good a warning would do. If anything, that would make him less likely to open the door when we finally got around to knocking.
“Fine,” Johann agreed with a sigh.
I waved him away. “Like he’s never dropped a mop out the window. Honestly.”
As the story goes, the downstairs neighbour answered his door on the first try. While I couldn’t understand Johann’s explanation, I could have sworn that he pointed in my direction and referred to me as “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” My contribution to this whole process was to stand just over his shoulder, smiling like an idiot and occasionally pantomiming key parts of the story.
The neighbour was not amused, which is a shame for him because Johann and I signed a year-long lease that technically hadn’t even begun yet. This is just the new reality for all of us. Give me a balcony and things are bound to fall off it every now and again. A sock or two… A paint brush, perhaps. Half a bottle of champagne every now and then. That’s just what happens when city people have access to the outdoors. And if you can’t relate, then I don’t think you’re making full use of your balcony. So chew on that.
As expected, our neighbour was able to retrieve the mop from his porch. We thanked him profusely in two languages and then headed back upstairs where I immediately introduced myself to a woman with a stoller as she came out of the apartment next to ours.
“I don’t live here,” she replied. “And my baby is asleep.”
“Get in the house,” Johann hissed, pointing the mop head in the direction of our door like an air traffic controller.
I took the mop out of his hands and pretended to look at its locking mechanism as he fiddled with the deadbolt.
“I think we need to tape this,” I said, shaking it in the hallway. “Doesn’t seem to hold.”
Johann took the mop out of my hands. “You think you’re still allowed to use this?” he asked, shaking the mop in my face. “No, you just leave the mop to me.”
I sighed. “You drop one mop out the window and it’s the end of the world,” I complained, throwing my hands up. I waited for him to close the door behind us and then leaned in. “This is who I am,” I said. “You knew it when you signed up. You want someone who’s going to keep all their belongings indoors and not bother the neighbours? Find a Finnish woman.”
“OK, fine,” Johann relented. “You can use the mop. Just don’t shake it over the balcony any more.”
“No,” I said, turning my nose up. “Never mind. If you’re going to be like that, I don’t want it anymore.” Then, I looked him dead in the eye and asked a question that was sure to inspire equal parts shock and dread: “Have you seen my drill mop?”
And that, my friends, is how you reset the bar.
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I love your travel posts, but there is a special joy in reading a post with just as ridiculous of a story without you even leaving your house!
yes, I agree. I felt a certain kind of joy of getting into trouble in a place where I was going to have to show my face agin. the near future is probably going to be a little less travel-heavy. but, luckily, this new apartment has SO MANY WINDOWS.
You do up disaster well, I’ll give you that. This is hysterical in any language.
Drill mop. I take it it rotates on the end of a drill and just whisks everything it touches away…to the corners, to the ceiling, to your black leggings…
You and I both know it!
The drill mop is awesome. I used it over the weekend to clean tile grout. I agree that it makes a mess, but if you have a real huge mess to begin with it’s worth it. definitely not for everyday touchups though!
xx – thanks for reading!!
“Ah, yes. Because that’s what this plan needed: Daylight.” You crack me up, Nova.
Thank you. There are days when I wish I didn’t have to find the silver lining in my shenanigans… but honestly, I don’t think I could stand the boredom. Increasingly, I would say the same about Johann. I don’t know what he did before me — sit quietly??? Sigh. Entertain me!
Oh the Finnish! Social interaction avoidance at it’s very finest!
Indeed! Although, I think both Johann and the neighbour owe me a thank you. We already ran into the guy in the hallway and he was all chatty chat… I’m telling you… I just crack that door a tiny bit and they all come bounding through!
Oh my goodness I needed this laugh today.
Why thank you! I needed a laugh too, honestly. Though I don’t necessary recommend the method :D
Have you experienced the classic sound of someone shutting their door when you open yours, just to wait you out before they can enter the hallway? Or is that a purely Swedish thing?
Also, I always say that you have as much fun as you make yourself, so throwing things out windows surely must add to that. Thumbs up!
HA!! I have not noticed this yet, though I would not be surprised at all. The one thing I will say about Finns – in my opinion and experience – is that they seem very hesitant to engage, but once you crack open the door, they really come crashing through. Like the downstairs neighbours did not seem amused by the mop at the time. Fast forward a week when we saw him outside and it was like he was an old friend. “HOW ARE YOU? GETTING SETTLED? ARE YOUR FLOORS CLEAN, HAHA.” Like, you’re welcome. You’re all welcome.
Just doing my part :)