Just when I thought having my mother-in-law visit would be good for my wife, it turned into a total disaster. She made trouble on purpose, and I knew I couldn’t just let it slide.
My wife’s mom, Catherine, moved in with us for what she called “a few months.” At first, I didn’t mind. Rachel was happy to have her around, and I thought a bit of family time could be good — especially since I was knee-deep in job interviews, hoping to get a better IT role.
Rachel had been laid off not long before, and without her income, things started to slip. We were in a financial bind. My IT job covered the basics, but it wasn’t enough to stay ahead. Our home loan was the biggest weight, and each month it got harder to keep up. Bills piled up fast — utilities, insurance, food. We had to cut corners and delay payments. It was exhausting.
I wasn’t jobless, but we needed more. I needed a better salary — something stable that could help us catch up and maybe breathe a little easier.
So I started looking. I applied to every strong opportunity I could find.
I usually interviewed from home. It seemed simple enough.
But it became a disaster with my mother-in-law around.
Every time I had a virtual interview, Catherine exploded into chaos. She would turn the TV to full blast, play loud 70s music, and talk on the phone like she was in a stadium.
At first, I thought maybe she just forgot.
After one interview ended in disaster, I stepped out of the study and found Catherine in the living room.
Me: “Could you please keep it down during my calls? The TV was so loud I could barely hear myself talk.”
Catherine: “Oh, I’m sorry, Josh. I didn’t realize it was that loud. I just put it on without thinking.”
Me: “It really threw me off. These interviews are important, and I need as much focus as I can get.”
Catherine: “I understand. I wasn’t trying to bother you. I’ll make sure to turn it down next time.”
Me: “Thanks, I appreciate it. Even just thirty minutes of quiet would help a lot.”
Catherine: “Of course, I can do that. I’ll keep myself busy in the kitchen or read in my room. You won’t even notice me.”
I believed her and thought maybe it really was just a slip.
The second time, I thought maybe it was bad luck.
But even as I sat in the study room, just a few steps from the kitchen and dining area, the banging started. Catherine would drop things on purpose, letting them crash to the floor.
Pots clattered, pans echoed, and glassware rattled across the counters. She slammed cupboards so hard the frames shook and yanked windows open and shut with sharp cracks. Every corner of the kitchen turned into a noise trap, and I could hear it all from behind the study door.
That night, Rachel and I lay in bed talking about it.
Me: “Did you hear all that noise while I was in the interview today? It sounded like she was throwing the whole kitchen around.”
Rachel: “I did hear some of it, but maybe she was just cleaning. You know how loud she can get when she’s moving things around.”
Me: “It wasn’t just cleaning. She was slamming everything. It threw me off the entire call.”
Rachel: “I don’t think she meant it, Josh. Maybe it was just bad timing. Twice in a row is unlucky, that’s all.”
Me: “Maybe you’re right. I’ll just try to focus better next time.”
We both left it there, convincing ourselves it was nothing more than coincidence.
By the third time, I knew.
She was doing it on purpose.
There was one interview I really needed to go well. I walked up to her and said, “This is a big one, please, just thirty minutes of quiet.”
She scoffed.
“Oh, relax. If you’re good enough, no silly distraction will ruin your chances. And if it does, maybe that company doesn’t want you anyway.”
But then, during the actual interview test, she pounded on the study door and screamed for me to open a jar of pickles.
I failed. Again.
With every failure, the frustration built inside me. I could feel it in my chest, tight and heavy, each time I walked out of the study knowing another chance had slipped away. After two more interviews ruined in the same way, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I sat down with Rachel again.
Me: “Rachel, this has to stop. I can’t keep doing this.”
Rachel: “I know it’s been rough, Josh, but maybe she doesn’t realize how serious these calls are. She’s set in her ways.”
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Me: “No, this isn’t about her ways. She banged on the door for pickles, Rachel. She’s blasting music in the middle of my tests. She knows exactly what she’s doing.”
Rachel: “I’ll talk to her again. Maybe if she hears it from me, she’ll understand how much is at stake.”
Me: “I appreciate that, but I’m running out of patience. If this keeps going, I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”
Rachel didn’t argue back. She just nodded, looking worried.
That was five interviews. Five failures. All with Catherine’s noise in the background.
Rachel tried to talk to her. She told her to keep it down. But my mother-in-law just smirked.
“If you can’t get a job while I’m around, maybe you’re just not cut out for it.”
That was it for me. I stopped asking her to be quiet.
I started thinking about how to make her understand.
Catherine loved her TV. It was her pride and joy. She had her shows, her music channels, her game nights.
So, I made some quiet updates.
I subscribed to every premium streaming service — Netflix, Hulu, Spotify, HBO, even Bollywood Gold Pack. I linked every single account to her credit card.
The next morning, she turned on the TV. Everything worked perfectly.
She smiled.
Until her phone buzzed.
Then came the shouting.
“WHAT is this $200 bill for CABLE? Why is Spotify Premium on my card?! And what the hell is ‘Bollywood Gold Pack’?!”
I didn’t flinch.
“Well, since you’ve made it clear you don’t want me to work, I can’t exactly pay for entertainment anymore. But you, on the other hand, seem to enjoy it. So, consider it your contribution to the household.”
She was furious.
She yelled and called me ungrateful.
I didn’t stay quiet this time. I stood in the living room while she paced around, arms crossed, glaring at me.
Me: “Ungrateful? Catherine, I’ve asked you again and again for a little silence during my interviews. Instead, you’ve made it impossible to focus.”
Catherine: “Don’t exaggerate. I was just living my life in my daughter’s home. If that’s too loud for you, maybe you’re not cut out for these fancy jobs.”
Me: “There’s a difference between everyday noise and what you’ve been doing. Turning up the TV, shouting on the phone, banging on doors — it’s not accidental. It’s disruptive, and you know it. And while you call it harmless, your daughter could end up without a home because of it. These jobs are our only chance to keep up with the bills, and you’re making sure I don’t even get a fair shot.”
Catherine: “You’re blaming me for your failures. If those companies really wanted you, a little sound wouldn’t matter.”
Me: “It wasn’t a little sound, Catherine. Every time I tried to prove myself, you made sure I couldn’t even get through a sentence without distraction. That isn’t bad luck — it’s you refusing to respect what I asked.”
Catherine: “I didn’t choose anything. I didn’t even know I was causing trouble half the time.”
Me: “I told you before each call. I wasn’t asking for hours, just thirty minutes. That’s all I needed, and you couldn’t give me that.”
Catherine: “Watch your tone, Josh. I’m your guest.”
Me: “A guest doesn’t work against the people who opened their home. You’ve pushed me to the edge, and I won’t stay silent about it anymore.”
She went quiet for a moment, her face hard, but I could see she wasn’t going to admit anything.
She told Rachel I was manipulative.
Rachel just looked at her and said, “Mom, maybe don’t make his life harder if you don’t want surprises.”
Catherine left the house within the week.
The silence that followed felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. For the first time in months, I could walk into the study without dreading what noise would come crashing through the walls.
The house finally felt like home again. Rachel and I could breathe, talk, and plan without tension hanging in every room. I didn’t realize how much her presence had drained me until the day she was gone.
Two weeks later, I got the job.
A better job. With no interruptions. No yelling. No TV noise.
Lesson learned: You can ask nicely a hundred times. But sometimes, silence only comes when the bill arrives.