Possibly the only reason I can still tolerate living with two messy and inconsiderate roommates is the fact that I have my own bedroom and bathroom. If I had to share either of these I’d be mad by now. I’d be standing in a clocktower with some sort of long range rifle screaming about unwashed dishes. I’d be on the news. Unfortunately the bathroom I have isn’t completely private, as it’s not connected directly to my bedroom but rather right across the hall. Furthermore, the washer and dryer are located in the bathroom (right across the hall from my bedroom) so when Amy has the sudden urge to wash her delicates at 1am on a Tuesday, I’m the first to hear about it.
Despite her seeming obliviousness to the problem with running large appliances when most people would be sleeping, Amy’s biggest annoyance with Becky is that she’s so loud, which I’ll definitely concur with. The two girls share a bedroom, and as far as I can tell from my limited conversations with them, they came into the arrangement because they were classmates, but weren’t very familiar with each other, otherwise I highly doubt they would have chosen to live together. Aside from her strange views on cleanliness and courtesy, Amy and I are quite similar, and I think we’d get along if it were just the two of us in the apartment. We’re both fairly quiet and spend most of our time on our computers. In comparison, Becky is very loud, both in voice and in activity. Within a week of their moving in, I’d already met a dozen of Becky’s friends. (And when I say “met” I mean “watched from behind my bedroom door as they sat in the living room drinking and smoking hookah”. For her credit, Becky did invite me to participate in the festivities, but I declined. I’m such a wet blanket.)
As far as I can tell, Becky isn’t involved in the Great Dish Washing Debate, because as far as I can tell, she doesn’t actually use any dishes. I have never seen her cook a single thing. On the other hand, the amount of alcohol she and her friends go through is astounding, so she is responsible for the large quantities of drinking glasses that pile up on the counter. If only I could get her to wash dishes with the same diligence and dedication as she washes out her hookah.
I’m not a confrontational person, but when it’s eleven PM on a Wednesday and Becky and her friends are having a rowdy bout of socializing, I tend to become grouchy. As it turns out, stomping into the living room in disheveled pajamas with my hair a-snarl and my face screwed up in indignation is a lot more effective than being passive aggressive. Of course, moving the party to someone else’s place isn’t possible, because apparently these friends don’t have homes of their own, as is evident by the amount of strangers I’ve discovered sleeping on my living room couch. Possibly these are actually vagabonds who wandered in off the street, since Amy and Becky are incapable of locking the front door. (If any thieves or murderers are reading this journal, forget I told you that. And by the way, I have a rottweiler.)
Anybody have an apartment for rent? No roommates, please.