All-American Horror Story: Roommate

You have heard the warnings and the horror stories. Yes, the dreaded “bad roommates” are real, and they are living in a home near you.

How do you know if you have fallen victim to this unfortunate situation? Let me take you through the routine of what I can only call “A Day in the Life of the Bad Roomie.”

It is 6 a.m. The alarm is blaring the same song over and over again because she will not wake up and turn it off. Better yet, she is awake, but she simply loves the song so much that she feels the need to hear it five times every morning.

By now, I have memorized all the words to a song that I would never listen to otherwise. It is a struggle to keep from throwing the alarm clock across the room into the seemingly soundproof bubble which envelopes her unconscious body.

During the fifth encore of the alarm, she groans and makes her way to the bathroom. Obviously, I do not witness her every action in the shower. Instead, I get to deal with the remnants of her 2-hour primping session.

Hair in the shower drain, an overflowing trash can, and steaming hairstyling tools that feel as though they could easily cauterize any wound are what is left for me to deal with before I am able to take my 10-minute shower.

Once she has finished preparing for the day that could have begun 4 hours earlier (please refer to the former paragraphs), she heads downstairs to the kitchen to fix her routinely simple meal of cereal and milk for breakfast. How she finds a bowl amongst the wreckage of her previous meals could be considered one of the mysteries of the universe.

Somehow she does, though, and proceeds to devour that cereal with the utmost care, putting every slurp and burp in its rightful place. Then she manages to find a crevice in the piles of dishes and slides her bowl in nicely. If stacking dirty dishes were an art, she could have cut off her ear by now.

Stepping away from the teetering dishes, she starts to head out the door. As a result of her excessive primping time, she is late for her class or her job or both. Since she was running late, she conveniently forgot to print and take that very important document she needs for class.

The text I then receive reads something like this: “OMG, I totes forgot my paper for class! Could you be the best roomie ever and bring it to me? It’s on my computer. It’s about 5 pages long, and I just need 10 copies printed. Oh, can I use your printer for that? Just bring it within the next 30 minutes or so! Thanks!”

She somehow makes it through the rest of the day without needing anything else from me. As I am getting ready for bed around midnight, the front door opens. Crawling into bed, I hear the roar of the television closely followed by shrill giggles.

The pillows I shove onto my head neither mask the sound nor suffocate me to the point of unconsciousness, so I am left to count sheep for another couple of hours until finally passing out.

Then the overplayed song returns.

– Anonymous

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