Your Worst Roommate Ever

Illustration for article titled Your Worst Roommate Ever

Welcome to Pissing Contest, a weekly story sharing circle for the the ass-draggiest time of the afternoon on the ass-draggiest time of the last day between you and the weekend. Every week, we'll ask a question, you'll share stories, and we'll pick a winner that's featured in the next week's post. It's like a pyramid scheme of outdoing each other!

Living with roommates is always an adventure. Sometimes it's a fun, cool adventure that is safe for kids, like the movie Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. Other times, it is a harrowing, scary adventure that makes you wish you weren't a person anymore, like the movie The Human Centipede. Let's talk about that.

This isn't the first time we've asked for jaw-dropping, skin crawling tales of your roommates from hell, but since a few years have passed, there's been more then enough time to have an entirely fresh set of Bad Roommate stories. We're not talking sometimes leaving underwear balled up on the floor of the bathroom after she gets done showering. We're talking dries his skid marked skivvies on the kitchen radiator because he doesn't have enough quarters to do laundry. We're talking cat stealing, genitalia flashing, gun toting, hallway puking nightmare people who just so happen to share an address with you.

Advertisement

But before we get to that, let's talk about last week's Pissing Contest of Weird Hittings-On. Great stories were shared by one and all, but this time, there was a clear winner. Take it away, janetstclair,

On a late summer/early fall evening, I was getting ready for bed in my dorm room in Australia, where I was studying abroad.

My computer made an "uh-oh" noise that any ICQ user would recognize. It was a message from my guy friend a few floor away - the only person I knew with a TV in their room. "Something is happening in the US - you should come down here." I went down to his room just in time to watch the second plane crash on 9/11. I sat on his bed, crying quietly watching it happen from half a world away. My friend put his arm around me, I assumed for comfort. Then his hand snaked lower, and he copped a feel and went in for a kiss.

Yep. He decided that watching live footage of a disaster happening in my home country was the best time to make his "move."

Advertisement

To quote Madeleine Davies, who spotted the story early and predicted it would emerge triumphant, "Nothing beats 9/11."

Now, to the windows. To the walls. Etc.

Share This Story

Get our newsletter

DISCUSSION

ijustmadethistocomplainaboutmyexroommate
I Just Made This to Complain About My Ex-Roommate

No, I win. Nope. Nope nope. I win. Okay. Here goes. It's long but (I think) it's worth it.

I move in with Tay and Britta. Britta is a hippie chick, laid-back, mellow. Tay is a devout Muslim woman, age 19, going to school to be a chef. Everything's great for a month. I have three cats; Britta has one (but it stays in her room) and Tay has one (which is a crazy psycho and I'm afraid of it.) The decline is decidedly marked with the introduction of a dragon toilet seat.

Britta buys it for our shared bathroom (Tay has her own bathroom). Tay is upset that Britta would violate the sanctity of our home with a dragon toilet seat. As the neutral party, I'm asked to make a decision. I side with Britta, saying it's really no harm done and if Tay wants her guests to use a dragon-toilet-seat-less bathroom, it's not unreasonable to expect that they can use hers. She gives me a wild look, like a Betta fish that has just realized it is tank-cleaning day.


The first thing that happens is Tay starts to leave her laundry in the washing machine, unwashed. When I move it so I can do my laundry, she accuses me of being mean to her. She refuses to do the litter box (at this point, we had just one for my cats + hers—now I know better!), because she doesn't want to clean up after my cats. When I point out that cleaning the litter box ONE time out of FOUR rotations is 25%, and she has 25% of the cats using the box, she accuses me of being a "Nazi dyke." She puts a lock on her door (on the outside, until I point it out and she fixes it). Within two weeks, she has stopped attending school and work. She has moved all of her food into her room. She refuses to do the same with her cat, which is the most vicious creature I've ever met in my life. I figure out why later when Tay picks it up. It instantly melts into the sweetest, most vulnerable kitty you could imagine, so happy its mom is giving it attention. And then Tay flings it into the ceiling as hard as she can and laughs when it hits the floor. When I threaten to report her, she threatens to tell our landlords I have two more cats than I said I did, which would result in them getting taken away. I secretly plan to steal her cat when I move.


I'm more or less forced to do her laundry at this point, because I'm literally afraid she will hurt me or my cats. Her laundry is now 25% crotchless panties and peek-a-boo-bras. When she first moved in, she claimed to be a devout Muslim woman waiting for marriage. Two months into our lease, she's leaving the house for "dates" and returning with wads of cash and Baby Phat jackets. (Those things are fucking expensive.)


One day, I come home from work. Tay's sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book. "Hi!" she says. I say hello back, completely unnerved.

She props her chin up on her hand. "I poisoned ONE thing in the fridge, and I'm not going to tell you what it is!" And she flounces away. I throw everything out of the fridge. The landlords say that it's a domestic matter, and we only have a few more months on our lease, so just ride it out. When the police come, Tay is sitting in the living area, doing homework for a class in which she's no longer enrolled. She's instantly the charming young woman I met in January. It was all a joke, she said. She just wants to be friends with us and is having trouble relating.

Britta and I resolve to only eat leftovers from Britta's job at the local pizza place.

Class was canceled one day, and I went home early. My cat was on the sidewalk. Tay was in the doorway, trying to push my other two cats out the door. She screamed and ran when she saw me. I got my cat back inside and closed the door. Inside her locked room, Tay cried out, "That fucking fat white dyke! And her stupid lezzie friend! They're so unfair! They hate me! THEY HATE ME!" I'm so afraid at this point. I start locking my cats in my room. The house is just bones now; we've removed all decorations, furniture, dishes, food, because we're afraid so afraid of what she's going to do.

She begins hammering things in the middle of the night. Nothing in particular, as far as I can tell. Just hammering, banging, singing at the top of her lungs, laughing hysterically at nothing. She waits for me (always in the kitchen, like I'm in some perpetual motion horror movie) and politely tells me that if I ever go into her bathroom, she'll kill me. Also, I need to clean her bathroom.

She makes a strawberry shortcake and leaves it on the table with a note saying, "I'm so sorry about how crazy things have gotten recently. I want things to go back to the way they were." We throw it out because we're 99% sure there is at least mucus in it.

Tay is the one who was originally holding onto the lease. In May, she comes out and waves it in my face. "Finally! I found a cute little apartment closer to downtown, and I'm so happy our lease is up!" June 2009. I didn't realize our lease was up that soon. I scramble for housing and find it, but just barely. I'm so behind on packing that I call off work. After school, I come home. It's 90 degrees outside, and the heat is blasting. All the windows in the house are open. I turn it down and knock on Tay's door.

"Go away!"

When I get the bill later, it's for $1,050. It's in my name, of course. She has been doing this for a MONTH, only closing the windows and turning the heat down right before I got home.

Tay guessed my plan about her cat. She smuggled the poor thing out before I could take it from her.

A few days after I've moved to my new apartment, I get a call from my old landlords. "Hey, your rent is late. We wanted to know when you were intending to pay it."

When I tell them we moved out, that it was the end of our lease, there's silence. Then: "Your lease isn't out until August."

Tay had used white-out, and marked the move-out date for June 1st, not August 1st, so she could move into an apartment she wanted that was available for June. So that was that.

I win. Unfortunately.