I think it’s only customary that each September, anyone who has ever had to move out for school and have roommates, is faced with a few days of flashbacks to horrible roommates.
I’m sure you all have had your own share, and since I’ve already complained about someone that I’m currently living with this week, I thought that it would be a good time to share some other examples of bad roommates.
In all honesty, I’ve been pretty blessed with some amazing roommates over the years. Granted, I lived at home for all but one semester of my first undergrad so I wasn’t subjected to the hellish experience that is dorm life (or so my friends tell me), but I have had two different instances that I’m going to bring up. It might be a long one, so freshen that cup of coffee, and grab an extra cookie for the trip.
Like I said, I only lived in student housing for one semester during my first undergrad. My parents lived in Kitchener and I went to school in Waterloo so there was no need for me to have that extra expense. For those who have no idea what I am talking about, it was a super quick 45-minute bus ride from my house to the university. With the university supplying a free bus pass while I was enrolled, it was an easy decision to make to stay at home.
Until my parents decided to move that is. Like sure, my brother had relocated permanently to Ottawa, and I was in my last year of school, and my dad could barely walk up and down the flights of stairs in our house – but when I first heard I was pretty upset. The day after the house went on the market, I started looking for sublets. I moved January 1st, my parents mid-February so it all worked out well.
My first experience with roommates was fabulous. I sublet a huge room in a 5 bedroom house. I was right by the front door, lots of windows, and when I moved in, I had the bathroom off the kitchen all to myself. I did have to pretty much bleach it from floor to ceiling before using it since the last guy decided to leave the shower and sink full of his hair trimmings when he was evicted for being a poop-canoe, but it was still great. The three people living upstairs were super nice (I’m still in contact with them) and we all got along. About a month later, a girl moved into the second bedroom on the main floor (the poop canoe’s room) and stayed just a few months. Together, we were a happy, respectful little family.
At the end of April, that last girl left. She was only in town to set up a clothing store for her boss (starting a franchise) and when it was running on its own, she left. Then we got the problem roommate: V.
V was…I’m not even sure how to explain V. She brought a 6-month-old cat with her who was a disaster. A short-haired cat which meant that I was allergic (we had a long haired cat already in the house who was a dream and I loved her). I tried to keep this devil out of my room but he knew no boundaries. He also did his business everywhere in the house that wasn’t his litter box. We had to feed the other cat in her owner’s bedroom because the devil cat would steal all her food. When we moved out, we found a huge pile of droppings behind the TV stand, which V defended as saying that the other cat could have done it too. Ummm, no, V. The other cat was trained. It was all your cat.
One time, I got up early in the morning to get ready for work, and I left my bedroom door open while I was in the bathroom doing my makeup. V always slept with her door closed and the devil cat in there with her. But I heard him scratching at the door so I guess she got up and let him out. When I returned to my room, there he was, sitting in my laundry basket of fresh clean clothes. I shooed him out, and turned to find out that he had pooped right on the top of my clean clothes!
In addition to her devil cat, V wasn’t in school. Granted she did move in at the beginning of May so school was out by then, but she had dropped out. She had a full-time job as a waitress and worked late nights sometimes. She would come home and wake me up, probably because I was beside the front door, but mostly because she was just loud and kind of a jerk.
When V wasn’t working, she did what most of us millennials do: sit in our room on our computers. It’s exactly what I did.
But what was different was that she hot-boxed her room. Now, she was living with me (never done drugs in my life), a Jewish boy a year younger than me (yes! I lived with a boy! He knew Krav Maga. It was awesome, but just like me no drugs), and two best friends who had lived together for like five years. The two besties were very much anti-smoking as well (one doing her PhD on the effects of smoking in third world countries via the WHO). The renter’s agreement said no smoking in the house. She apparently saw that as a challenge and would smoke regular cigarettes and weed in her room.
Somehow, she also seemed to suck up our entire internet limit.
We all shared the kitchen things: dishes, pots, pans, etc. But like most people, we all had our own special items. I had a plethora of Disney character mugs which I kept on my shelf with my food. People were allowed to use them but they stayed on that shelf. The PhD student had this gorgeous Beatrice Potter mug. Her Swedish boyfriend had bought it for her for their one year anniversary when they were in Germany on holiday. We all knew not to use that mug. But then, one day, it went missing. And it stayed missing for about a month. We were all convinced it was broken and no one was stepping up to take responsibility, and then V decided to clean her room and actually wash the month’s worth of dishes she was hoarding in there. And what would ya know – there was the mug.
Not to only write horrible things about her, one weekend it was just me and V in the house all alone. And all of a sudden I heard her screaming at like 11 pm. I raced out of my room and found her trying to hide from a bat which had come into the house (probably from her smoking outside). We spent about an hour trying to catch it together. The male roommate was upset he wasn’t there to protect us (especially after the almost underwear man break in!)
I think V knew that we all were totally over her being there. One day she was talking to her sister and as they walked passed us, V said: “ya know you can put up with almost anything if it’s only for like four months”. And she was right. Those four months living with her were horrible, but we all just kept reminding ourselves it was only for four months.
To be continued in Part 2: Teacher’s College.