My heart is in the right place

The shittiest phrase out there 


by Tomo Luetic


Last autumn my girlfriend and I rented a place in Cardiff for a couple of months.

The landlord was a girl who just started fresh after buying a new house.

She seemed really nice and gave us a room for a couple which is for some reason really hard to find all over the UK.

The only thing which captured my suspicion was the fact she didn’t know how to pronounce Pedro Almodovar although she actually lived in Spain for a year and had a big collection of Pedro’s DVDs proudly exhibited on the top shelf in the living room.

However, we got ourselves a fear deal, a room for a couple and a pretty silent Pakistan roommate on the same floor who was working during the week and traveling home for the weekends.

On the opposite, the landlord worked in the nearby village during the week and sometimes popped by.

Most of the time we were working and spending our time home alone.

One day the Almodovar girl asked us if we would mind if some workers came by the house during the week ’cause she would really love to arrange the loft to rent the third space in the house.

They would do it in the mornings after we’re gone for work and finish in the afternoon before we came back home.

They would be careful and respectful of our time and space.

Sure, we said. The deal was we will never see the lads.

Then the slow and painful torture begun.


Not only the workers would come early while we were washing our morning face, but one day we finally lost it when we came home from a 12 hours shift to find the complete room filthy and covered with dust from the drilling.

It was everywhere.

In our bed, in my girlfriend’s purse, inside of my watch and all over the computer.

They’ve thrown our clothes in one corner.

They even touched my girlfriend’s panties.

We went mad like fucking bulls.

I called the landlord and told her she fucked this up.

Asked her for a refund and to cancel the workers while we’re there.

She was all shocked, apologetic and concerned about us.

Then she told us she’ll refund one-fifth of the rent and if we want to go somewhere else, by all means, she understands.

We decided to stay ’cause we were working our asses off and didn’t have time to move around.

It became unbearable.

Who’s responsible?

In the end, we almost went to court with this girl.

She said we were making it up and we told her she’s an amateur and how we could sue her. She insisted that it wasn’t her fault at all.

After the whole shitty melodrama, she said she understands us but she wanted the best and her heart was in the right place.

Let’s take a breath here.

Her heart is in the right place?!

She tossed that in front of us like some ultimate universal argument.

If we were in court, she would probably base her fucking defense on this heart is in the right place.

I’m pretty sure that if she was accused of murder, her defense would be the same.

What does it mean anyway?

Of course, her heart is in the right place.

It’s right there in her chest where it should be.

Everybody’s heart is fucking there in the same exact place.

Does that mean she’s a good person?

Do we have to erase the whole shit and fall in love with her ’cause her heart is in the right place?

Does this mean she didn’t want this to happen?

It’s a dangerous phrase to seal it in our everyday vocabulary.

It’s cheap like a cheating husband who explains himself to his wife by claiming he accidentally tripped on some rock and somehow fell with his cock in another woman’s vagina.

It’s a fairytale

And it’s a bad one.

Whenever I fucked up in life I’ve even made it worse by trying to justify myself.

On the opposite, whenever I took responsibility for some shit I did and felt the pain that goes with it, I actually did something human.

The world is a place of plague because of us not taking extreme ownership for our deeds.

In my opinion.

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