Last Tuesday, a guy named Dave rolled up to his unit here. Hadn’t been in for about nine months. He’s unlocking the door, laughing, saying he’s finally got a garage for his antique wooden skis. He swings the door up.
The smell hit us first. Sweet and rotten, like old potatoes and wet dirt.
His skis, the ones his grandfather carved? They were fuzzy. Green and white fuzz all over the leather bindings. The beautiful wood was warped, stained with dark lines. He just stood there. Didn’t say a word for a full minute. Then he said, “I just put them in. I didn’t think…”
He didn’t think he needed to clean them. They looked fine. A little dusty from the attic, but fine.
That’s what I want to get across to you. That “I didn’t think” moment. It’s the worst. And it’s so, so common.
Look, I run this place. I see what goes into units, and I see what comes out. The difference between a win and a disaster almost always comes down to one thing: did you clean it before you locked the door?
Why a “Sealed Box” is a Lie
And I get it. Cleaning feels stupid. You’re paying us to hold your stuff, why should you detail it like a used car? It feels like you’re putting a band-aid on a banana.
But here’s the ugly truth a lot of places won’t tell you: A storage unit is a sealed box. It’s not a time capsule. It’s an ecosystem. Whatever you put in there, stays in there. The dirt, the grease, the chip crumb from 2019, the invisible sweat on a jacket collar. It all stays.
And in that dark, quiet box, that stuff doesn’t just sit. It works.
That chip crumb is a five-course meal for a silverfish. The sweat and skin flakes on your favorite armchair? That’s a moisture magnet. When the air gets a little damp—and it always does, everywhere—that moisture clings to the dirty spot. And then you’ve got a mold farm. You don’t see it happening. You just show up one day to a ruined chair.
Your “Evict the Stowaways” Action Plan
- So let’s get practical. How do you not be Dave?
- Don’t think of it as “cleaning.” Think of it as “evicting the stowaways.”
- You’re not going for showroom shiny. You’re going for biologically neutral.
1. For the love of god, clean your kitchen stuff
I can’t stress this enough. If I had a bullhorn, I’d yell it. That toaster? Crumbs = mouse Thanksgiving. That beautiful stand mixer? Wipe off the flour and grease. It’s skin oil and food residue. It goes rancid. It smells. It attracts. Your crockpot? Wash the stoneware. Dry it completely. I mean, take a dry towel and get it bone-dry. Then leave the lid off.
2. Furniture is a trap
- That plush, comfy sofa? It’s a crumb hotel. Vacuum it like you’re looking for lost treasure. Get down in the seams.
- Spot clean any spills, even old ones. The stain is food. For fabric, for bugs, for mold.
- For wooden stuff, just wipe it down with a dry cloth first. Get the dust off. Dust holds moisture.
3. Clothes and blankets
Just wash them. All of them. The “worn once but it’s fine” hoodie is the worst offender. Your body oils are on it. To a clothes moth, that’s a sauce. Don’t bother with fancy detergent. Just get the human off of it.
4. The weird stuff
- Your kid’s plastic toys? Wipe them down. They’re sticky.
- Your golf bag? Empty the pockets of old granola bars.
- Your holiday decorations? Shake the tinsel out. Get the attic dust off.
This isn’t about being a neat freak. It’s about being a realist. You are putting your possessions into hibernation. You want them to sleep clean.
And this is where I plug my own place, because Dave’s story wrecked me. At New Burton Storage, we keep our halls clean, our roofs sealed, and we’re pests about pest control. But we’re not magicians. We can give you a clean, dry, secure box. But we can’t clean what you put inside it. That’s on you. Think of us as the good, solid barn. You’re the one who has to brush down the horse and check its shoes before you put it in the stall.
The Real Goal: Peace of Mind
The goal is simple. You lock that door, you walk away, and you forget. You don’t lie awake wondering. You don’t have a low-grade anxiety about what’s happening in New Burton Storage. You just know you did it right.
Then, when you finally come back, you roll up the door, and it just smells… like nothing. Maybe a little like cardboard. And your stuff is just your stuff. Not a science project.
That’s the win. That’s the whole game.
Do the work upfront. It’s a pain. I won’t lie to you. But it’s a smaller pain than standing in a doorway, looking at your grandfather’s skis, covered in fuzz.
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