I know if people would mess my things, especially at home. I can't help but rearrange things that are askew when I see them. Even if they are not mine. I wipe tables in restaurants when they are wet or something messy is splashed on them.
Lately, upon my transfer to another apartment to save rental costs, I could not help but notice that the bathroom is, hmmm, quite messy, to say the least. Of all the places in a home, it is the bathroom we called CR that I got my impression on the household.
After five days of tiptoeing around the CR, I could no longer contain my irritation. If I would not clean them, nobody would. Or that was the cleanest my housemates could get.
Armed with muriatic acid, strong cleaning powder and two brushes, I attacked the CR for almost an hour, scrubbing the walls and floors and toilet bowl until they were shining white. Even if the fumes literally suffocated me right there inside. I gasp for air once in a while.
My prize? Really painful blistered hands that I had a hard time navigating the mouse of my computer.
Whew! So much for OC-ness.