I’m looking for a first-rate Chippewa Valley cleaning service willing to clean my basement. But hold up. Before all you cleaning companies out there start calling me up, looking to court me as a client with fancy multi-course dinners and pricey nights out on the town, hopping from cigar bars to martini bars to ice cream parlors and back again … I have a few prerequisites.

First off – I’ll just put this out there – I’ll need you to work for free. Yes, it’s kind of an unorthodox approach to business. But I’m sorry, the exchange of money is a deal breaker. And in addition to cleaning my long-neglected, unfinished basement, I’ll require you to repair any broken, dilapidated, or sketchy-looking support structures, woodwork, or masonry. You will need to mouse-proof the place. Also, there are a number of “dark places” in the basement, places sunlight has never touched, places that appear to be perfect nooks for evil, tiny ferret people to hide and plot their wicked cruelties. You’ll be required to, you know, fix that. For free.

I’m sorry, but these are my terms.

If anyone out there knows of/works for/is willing to start such a cleaning service, please contact me by visiting the Volume One offices in person with a pre-prepared 20-minute PowerPoint presentation upon the topic of “Why my free cleaning service rocks and why you should totally hire me to clean your creepy basement, Mike Paulus.” Bring beverages in case I get thirsty. Something fruity.

Please contact me soon, because I’m sick of thinking about it. Why do I loath my basement so much? Let’s count the ways:

My basement is old
    Sure, there are much older basements in the Eau Claire area. I remember drinking beer in a couple of dirt-floored, sandstone-walled basements that looked like the set of Fright Cellar IV. They had strange little rooms and ominous doors nailed shut. My little East Side Hill home is only 60 years old, with a cement floor and cement block walls, but it’s plenty old to acquire some problems. A foundation leak here, some gross wood paneling there, sketchy plumbing here, a raccoon’s nest there. These things require the attention of a handy man – or a man willing to be handy – but so far, I am neither.

It has cobwebs
    Using the amount of dusty, stringy cobwebs clinging to my basement ceiling’s exposed floor joists, you can accurately pinpoint my house’s spider count at somewhere between 300,000 and 500,000. I’m not sure where they all are, but they’ve left ample remnants of their handiwork, so I’m led to assume they all scurry and hide as soon as they hear my feet on the steps. As I move about the basement, I’m sure my actions are being tracked by 2.4 million to 4 million beady little bug eyes. And soon, they will realize the strength in their numbers.

It has darkness
    Remember the tiny, evil ferret people holes I mentioned near the end of my second paragraph? I’m not kidding. Sure, I have no reasonable reason to believe evil, paranormal beings are living in my basement, but I’ve never been one to let reason hold me back. I just feel weird about some of those niches and recesses. I’m pretty sure some of the dark spots I’ve been avoiding don’t lead to anywhere natural. In fact, I’m sure those nooks and crannies will spew forth their bizarre contents one day, and I’ll just disappear. Future generations of East Side Hill children, upon hearing the urban legend of the Ol’ Paulus House will come to know these portals as The Hell Wells, and they’ll be the subject of numerous (seemingly innocent) rhyming games.

It makes me feel guilty
    I’ve been living there for over three years and have yet to provide more than the bare minimum of care my basement requires. It’s figuratively literally the foundation of my family’s home, so you’d think I’d give it more respect. But much like those 2-year-old Applebee’s gift certificates in the junk drawer, I just let it sit there and assume I’ll eventually get around to dealing with it. And then when I realize how long it’s waited for my attention, I feel guilty, and I’d just rather not think about it.

It’s a metaphor for my beautiful mind
    Hey, all this basement babble can totally be applied to my psyche, right? I’ve got plenty of “cleaning” (meditation), “organizing” (rethinking), “fixing” (dealing with bad habits), and “weather-proofing” (wearing awesome hats) to do in the basement of my very own head. And dealing with the real, non-head basement reminds me of all the other neglected stuff in my life. 

But hey, that basement is still doing a great job holding up my house, storing my junk, and housing my kitty litter box, so it’s not all bad. Evil ferret people aside, it could be a lot worse. Since we’re on the eve of a whole new year, maybe it’s time to make a pledge to finally clean it up.

Yep, maybe it’s time for that.