After working hours, I sprint into the Markthal, towards the restroom. Swearing softly, I pay the 1,20 euros entrance fee. Inside, I notice that this is not a normal restroom. The wall tiles and sinks shine and soothing music emanates from luminous amplifiers in the wall. According to a description, the toilet is designed for optimal relaxation and thus perfect for a ‘zen’ moment. A sign next to the toilet reads: “Make the most of your toilet visit.”
Arriving at my apartment, I see my roommate with a gas mask on. He pulls the mask off his head and says there’s something in the kitchen I need to see. The entire countertop is full of unwashed pans, plates and utensils. This is mostly the work of our other roommate, although I spot a carton of curdled lime milk that I bought two months ago and then forgot about. I decide not to mention this. “We also have a new roommate, by the way”, my roommate says as he points to a wok pan containing a bag of bird food. Before I can ask what he means, a mouse crawls out of the bag.
“We should give him a name”, my roommate says.
“Tjeerd”, I suggest.
My roommate indicates that I better step outside if I don’t want mold in my lungs. He puts his gas mask back on and grabs a pan off the kitchen counter. The entire inside is covered in a thick layer of mold. He places the pan in the sink while I watch from the balcony. As soon as the faucet turns on, a cloud of bits of mold blows through the kitchen. When the pan is full, a soggy patch of mold rises to the surface. My roommate grabs it and holds it up to the window, thinking I want to see it up close.
Afterwards, I try to enjoy a Turkish pizza in the living room. The disgusting explosion in the kitchen cannot be smelled here. Suddenly, a pungent smell hits me. The downstairs neighbor has lit up a joint. Fortunately, my roommate has a supply of scented candles. I choose the one with tompouce scent, although I have no idea what tompouce smells like.
