THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, March 3, 1995 TAG: 9503020165
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Over Easy
SOURCE: Jo-Ann Clegg
LENGTH: Medium: 86 lines
We had several good reasons for choosing our current house 20 years ago. It was big. It was in a nice neighborhood. It was in a great school district. And it had a master bath shower that was about half the size of downtown Kempsville.
That last reason was Bill's, not mine. I take baths: long, hot, bubbly ones. He takes showers: long, hot, soapy ones.
Which is why the master bedroom shower, the one he reasoned was plenty big enough to take a man-sized shower in, is now only a quarter the size of downtown Kempsville.
The rest of it has been filled in by mold and soap scum.
How much scum and mold is there in there?
So much that even our sons refuse to use the shower when they're home. ``Mom, that thing is disgusting,'' our youngest said the last time he was here. This from the kid whose bathroom in his undergraduate apartment was so bad that I used to stop at the Charlottesville bus terminal on my way into town so I wouldn't have to use it.
Getting back to the shower in question, I wouldn't let the mold and scum build up like that if I used it regularly. As it is, it's only when one of the kids complains or the scuzz starts making its way out the door and across the bathroom floor that I remember to clean it.
When that happens I change into a pair of cut-off jeans and one of Bill's old T-shirts, arm myself with a spray bottle of soap scum cleaner and another of mold killer and prepare to spend the day in the shower.
That's not quite as bad as it sounds. Since Bill enjoys his shower so much he has both a clock and a radio in there. I still have the bath chair that I used when I broke my ankle last year. I can go in at 9 in the morning, sit down, listen to three hours of good music and emerge when the big hand and the little one are both straight up.
Usually, but not always, that is enough time to get the job done.
My latest foray into the shower was one of the times when it wasn't.
First there was the phone.
``What are you doing today?'' my mother wanted to know.
``Cleaning the shower,'' I told her.
``Call me when you're done,'' she said.
``How's Friday sound?'' I asked.
``Today's only Monday,'' she said.
``I know,'' I said.
``It's that bad?'' she asked.
``It's that bad,'' I assured her.
She didn't call back but the rest of the world did. I sprayed. I scrubbed. (Did I mention that I also take a clean sponge mop in the shower with me?) I answered the phone. I hung up on the magazine salesman, the aluminum siding salesman and the chimney sweep.
I got rid of the carpet cleaner by asking if they did mold.
``On carpets?'' she asked.
``No, four inches of it on a shower floor,'' I told her.
``Hold on a minute,'' she said. ``Hey Myrt, can we take four inches of mold off a shower floor?'' she yelled to a coworker. I hung up with their laughter ringing in my ears.
By noon the mold on the floor was down to a couple of inches in most places. Soap scum was still at three inches and holding. My sponge mop didn't have much sponge left on it. I think the scum remover did it in.
That or the mold killer.
I took stock and decided to call it quits for the day.
I had removed enough gook so that the face of the clock was visible once more. I had removed most, but not all, of the mold from the hand held shower head. One corner of the shower was clear of all mold and soap, a second was almost clear, a third still had most of its original coating. The fourth was holding two wash cloths, an empty shampoo bottle and my bath chair hostage.
I turned the radio off, pried the bath chair loose, gave the shower one final hosing down and carried the remains of the mop to the garage, stopping on the way to add mold killer, soap scum remover and a replacement mop head to the grocery list.
I deposited the cut-offs and the T-shirt straight into the washer then took a long, hot, soapy bubble bath and called my mother.
``Listen,'' I told her. ``I don't think I'll be calling you again until at least Saturday.''
``That bad?'' she asked.
``Let's just put it this way,'' I said. ``If I had to use that shower, I'd be looking for a bus terminal with a shower room as a more sanitary alternative.'' by CNB