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Who Am I Living With?!?

I read an article today about nightmare roommates.  The article highlighted stories such as a roomie who refused to clean and another who was a bit of an identity thief.  Though the stories will vary greatly, nearly everyone out there has a story to tell about a nightmare that they once called their roommate.  It inspired me to share a few of my own horror stories.  Please chime in with your own stories of woe in the comment section!

bad college roommate

CANCER IN COLLEGE:  I was pretty excited about having my first roommate during my freshman year of college.  Her name was Ashley and she seemed like a cool enough person when we were exchanging emails and deciding who would bring what when it came to appliances and entertainment.  Our first week went smoothly, but our second week had a bit of a hiccup during a movie night in our room with a few other girls from the dorm; instead of watching the movie, Ashley was face first in the crotch of a guy she had met just an hour before.  She began acting more and more promiscuous while dropping her showers from daily to once a week.  She began collecting her dirty laundry under her bed rather than in her drawers, doing sniff tests to find things to wear.  Finally she broke the news to myself and the other girls in the dorm that she had cancer.  A month passes and she informs us that a new laser surgery rid her of the cancer.  Two weeks later we learn via voicemail from her mother that her “cancer” was actually a single kidney stone that she had broken up by a doctor and was able to pass without incident.  She was so ashamed of her lie that she left the dorm and gave me a private room for the second half of the year.

fingers-crossed-behind-back-woman

JEALOUSY IS A KILLER:  My first apartment cost me $325 a month for my half of the rent, plus about $30 in utilities, for a decent sized two bedroom in a quiet area.  I moved in with my best friend from work, Travis; a 450+ pound guy who was as sweet as a teddy bear.  Once we were settled in, he proposed an odd rule that my boyfriend could only visit once a week and never to sleep over.  I soon discovered that he was an alcoholic; I came home one night to find he had finished off my big unopened bottle of whiskey and nearly demolished a 24 pack of beer.  I had to call in reinforcements to get him off of the living room floor where he lay weeping and into his bed.  Sometimes I would catch him watching me from the couch through the small crack in my doorway.  One day when we were both working, a tow truck came to collect his car due to some legal matter (possibly related to all the beer cans in the trunk) and the next day, I came home from school to find that he had moved out.  He called the electric company and water company to have them both shut off, leaving me with mere minutes to contact them both to get them reconnected.  He took every single item, big and small, in that place that he considered his.  He even took the $5 trash can, leaving a full open bag of trash in the middle of the kitchen floor.  I haven’t spoken to Travis since.

beerbelly

DRUGS ARE BAD:  At one low point in my life, I was renting a room in a boarding house with about ten other people.  This is more of a close neighbor story than actual roommates, but it counts.  I had my own bathroom, so I could easily isolate myself from the rest of the house.  Across the hall from me was a married couple who had just moved here from out of state; a chubby girl named Monica and her goggle-eyed husband, along with their newborn baby girl.  They seemed normal at first, until the husband began flirting with me anytime his wife was away at work (I had gotten her a job with me at IHOP but we didn’t always share shifts).  I was able to ignore him except for one day when he forced himself in my room, knocked me on the bed, and tried to assault me.  Unfortunately for him, I outweighed and out-muscled him and easily sent him running for his mommy.  Outside of him, there was a crackhead that lived down the hall.  I didn’t know she was a crackhead until returning from work one day with Monica.  She accused us both of “checking out” her skinny, filthy boyfriend and went crazy.  I have a small scar on my left arm from where she attacked me.  Monica and I locked ourselves in my room and called the police; she was soon hogtied and thrown in the back of their car after twice running away from the officers who showed up to assist.  Oh, and there was also a guy who died in his room and was there for a week before anyone noticed.

3q1bom

LOOKIE HERE:  While between places, I had to crash on the floor of my friend’s place for a bit.  He was a scrawny, nerdy, nice guy who I met with friends at a liquor store and later saw for games of pool, dinner and drinks on multiple occasions.  He was almost twice my age but very approachable and friendly.  My boyfriend had the idea of me staying with him for a bit to save money and I agreed because my other option was living in my car.  The first week went smoothly; I was able to put back cash from my paycheck and received a surprising amount of privacy for someone on an air mattress in the middle of the living room.  Little did I know the guy was somewhat of an exhibitionist, setting up various ways for me to literally catch him with his pants around his ankles.  The first time, I chalked up to an accident.  Time #2 made me suspicious and I began searching for a new place.  Time #3 he just came out of the shower butt naked and entered the living room where he knew I was sitting.  I ran to the end of the driveway to wait for my ride so I could get the hell out of that place.

Day 30

What about you?  Big or small, share your stories.  It can be personal or something that a friend or family member has experienced.  And… GO!

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About Jamie C. Baker

“Long time no see. I only pray the caliber of your questions has improved.” - Kevin Smith

Posted on April 22, 2013, in Crazy People, Friends and/or Enemies, Life, Money and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 11 Comments.

  1. While in college my brother and I lived in a 4 bedroom apartment. The terms of the lease were that management could move anyone of the same sex into the remaining 2 bedrooms at any time. Our monthly rent was the same whether or not the remaining bedrooms were occupied. After a month or so of enjoying the apartment to ourselves, management moved someone in with us (I’ll call him “Roomie”) who seemed like a decent enough dude.

    A few days after he moved in Roomie and I decided to eat at a restaurant. After we had looked over our menus, a waitress came by to take our orders. After taking my order she asked Roomie for his. I glanced at Roomie and saw that he had a dazed, vacuous look on his face, and that a stream of drool was slowly discharging from his mouth. As the waitress and I watched in shock, the drool extended from his lip to his lap where it pooled until it finally broke off. Roomie tried to give his order, but his speech was garbled and slurred. I received a look of disgust from the waitress who muttered that she’d return in a few moments.

    I told Roomie that he’d better sober up quickly from whatever he was on. I left to go to the restroom. When I got back I saw Roomie stumble and sprawl onto someone’s table that had food and drinks on it. The diners were horrified. The manager came in and said something about calling the police. I hightailed it to my car and drove away. Not long after I got home Roomie came stumbling in followed by a different server at the restaurant who apparently knew him. She said she convinced the manager not to call the cops.

    This was one of many similar incidences that we had with Roomie who we quickly discovered liked to take Quaaludes. We had several parties ruined by him because he would ask girls point blank, while he was doped up, if they’d like to go to bed with him. His bad behavior didn’t just extend to making a fool of himself and embarrassing others. One morning while Roomie was out of town, my brother and I discovered that someone had broken into the apartment while we slept and stole some of our belongings in the living room which was downstairs. We found out a couple of years later, after Roomie had finally moved out, that he instigated the break-in with a fellow lowlife.

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