So, this is another roommate story that I have yet to tell. I’ve been meeting to put the metaphorical pen to paper for this one, but I just haven’t got around to it. When I moved into a house with these two people, I felt like it was great. I am still friends with one of the two people that I lived with. It isn’t that I just can’t live with people. There’s no way this one was my fault. Living with these people was great. Everyone got along. Our schedules never conflicted. It was beautiful. We even all hung out every once in a while. It wasn’t until May, 4 months after I moved in, that everything went downhill.
I really have no idea how the whole dispute started, but I’m going to do my best to describe this situation in as much detail as I can from my point of view. My two roommates, the homeowner and another renter, were in a fight over something. Who knows what, but shit hit the fan when the homeowner decided he wanted to redo the floors by the bedrooms. For some reason, “the renter,” decided she did not want anyone to open the door to her room to do the floor up to her door.
Now, it’s one thing to not want strangers in your room. I get that. Totally understand. But the landlord was going to be home, supervising the whole thing. It wasn’t as if a bunch of people were going to be in her room going through her shit.
So, in the spirit of keeping me out of this whole thing, one day I came home, and she asked me “hey, can I talk to you about something?” So, here we go. Now, I basically already knew that she was very upset about the whole thing, but I was ready to hear her side of the story now. Usually, I’m a full believer that there are three sides to every story, your side, my side, and the truth. I was pretty sure her side of the story was going to be about as crazy Trump’s last 5 tweets. I was not disappointed. She told me all about how upset she was about the strangers in her room but it wasn’t because of what you would think. She didn’t think her shit was going to be stolen. She didn’t think it would get dirty. No, she told me it was because she didn’t want people stepping on her rug because it had special powers.
Special powers, good vibes, whatever the fuck she called it. I call it crazy. I tried to keep a straight face when she said this, but I couldn’t. I laughed right in her face. I thought she was kidding but apparently, she really thought that. I wish the shit storm stopped here but it doesn’t. I get a text about a month later; I was already moved out of the apartment. She texted me and asked me if I threw out her graduation flowers. I really didn’t know how to answer because I wasn’t sure. If there were dead flowers sitting in our kitchen I probably threw them the fuck out. I told her that and she gave me some sarcastic answer about how I should remember whether I threw out flowers or not. I apologized and said “sorry but throwing out flowers is not a significant memory in my brain.”
I can’t imagine thinking that I would give a shit if someone threw out my flowers. Especially, because after she graduated she left the city for a week. Did she expect someone to take care of her beloved graduation flowers? I’m not too sure. I probably never would’ve wrote about this if she didn’t accuse me of maliciously throwing flowers away. After she did that, I had to write about my disdain towards her. Flowers… give me a break.
I think about it, and I wonder if I’m the bad roommate. Am I the one who can’t be lived with? Am i better off living in a studio apartment alone? Should people not live with me? Then I remember that I don’t really give a shit. I especially don’t give a shit about her flowers. Whether I did or did not throw them out, I’ll never know. I do wish I could take a ride on her magic carpet. Maybe see a whole new world? Some shining shimmering splendor? The whole deal.
When you decide to live in someone else’s home or apartment, just remember that it’s not your fucking house. Just like when you live with your mom and dad there are rules. Like don’t leave dead plants in the kitchen for a week. Don’t park your friend’s car in the garage without permission, and definitely don’t expect anyone to give a shit about your magic carpet. This is real life folks, not a fucking Disney movie, so get over yourselves.