Drunk Roommate

I am evicting my roommate tomorrow. But first, let me tell you a couple of stories so you’re all caught up. I’ll start with the last week of October. It was early Tuesday morning. 4am early. I was soundly sleeping in my bed when there’s a knock on my door and my roommate pokes his head in and says my name. It took me a couple second to realize I wasn’t dreaming/nightmaring and woke up with a jolt. WHAT. “I really need to talk to someone. Can I talk to you?” Fuck. Ok, what’s up? (Real all his parts in a drunk voice. Because he’s smashed again) “I was trying to talk to someone online, but my computer was too slow. I just, I don’t know. I just feel like my life sucks and everyone hates me.” Why do you think everyone hates you? “I don’t know. I just do. Sometimes I think I should just…*pause*…I don’t know. I mean, I believe in God, so I would never actually hurt myself or anything, but…I dunno.” I wake up a little bit more. Am I going to have to talk this fucker down off a goddamn ledge at 4am in the morning? Let me mention I have to work at 7am, so I’m not super happy to be woken up by this idiot in the first place and then he goes and has the nerve to try and manipulate me with this fucking suicide talk?! I am not making light of suicide. Once you have heard everything, you will understand why I believe it was mostly bullshit and manipulation. Of course, there’s always a chance he’s serious, and so I listen. He goes on. “Do you know why Kelly and I were fighting the other night?” No, I have no idea why the two of you ever fight. “Because we went to Habano’s on Friday and I caught her fucking some other guy in the men’s bathroom!” Uhh….come again? “Yeah, so I punched him, all 3 of us got kicked out, and I kicked his ass when we got outside. And everyone keeps telling me I can do better than her, but, I love her, you know?” Sure, you two seem like the perfect couple on the outside. “Anyways, I should let you get back to sleep. I’m sorry for bothering you, I’m going to let you get back to sleep.” Great idea. Good night.

I am almost back asleep when there’s a knock on my door again. “Amy, are you still awake? I, um, I, uhh, I chickened out on what I actually wanted to talk to you about.” What, Kris? “Umm, well, I, uhh, umm, I, well, like, I need a ride to work this morning. But I don’t have money for a cab. Could you lend me some and I’ll pay you back on Friday?” Seriously? How much do you need? “$40 would probably be enough. The job site is in White City.” Will you let me sleep if I lend you that? Fine.

So I get out of bed. It’s 5am now. He is talking the whole time saying how he appreciates it and blah blah blah. I look at him and say, “Kris, stop talking. Just shut the fuck up. Here. I’m going to bed.”

I hear him go outside a bit after this for what I assume is a smoke before catching a bit of sleep before work. I fall right back to sleep. When my alarm goes off at 6, I get out of bed. All the lights are on in the house. I can see his bedroom light on under his door, and his dog whines when he hears me moving around. I go to let Walter out and the back doors are open. Not unlocked. OPEN. Wide open. I guess I’m heating the whole neighbourhood while extending a warm, welcoming invitation to anyone who loves a Tuesday morning rape and pillage. I assume this asshole isn’t home so I go and let his dog out also. I take a look around the yard to see if the gates are open too. Nope. He managed to make sure the gates to the yard were closed. Gates that are low enough to easily climb over, and don’t lock anyways. But not with it enough to close the doors to the house. Brilliant. As I’m scanning the yard, the memory of the conversation from the night before creeps into my mind and my eyes come to rest on the garage. What if he’s…in the garage? Fuck it. I have to get ready for work.

If only that was the end of this exciting morning. As I’m putting his dog back in his room, what do I spy laying on his mattress? A bottle of lube. Not just any lube. Passion Parties Warming Lubrication. The fucker helped himself to my product shelves! And judging from the amount that was gone, that fucker was wandering around the city like the greased up deaf guy from Family Guy! Add another $20 to his bill.

When I get home from work that night, he’s home. I give him shit for leaving the doors open. He tells me he doesn’t remember much except that he owes me $40, he ended up at work and his boss told him to go home, he woke up around noon at a friend’s house, then he came home and slept. Stellar human being.

That night, a girl shows up at our house who is not Kelly. This girl is a Teletubby. Head to toe, red Teletubby. I don’t know who she is. I don’t care. Kelly is back by the weekend.

Friday comes. Rent day. I pay rent. He doesn’t have rent yet. Surprise! He assures me he will have it the following Friday. Monday night. I get home from work. Before I even get in the house, I can smell it. Cigarette smoke. Once I get in the front door, it’s like a wave hits me. I’m beyond pissed. Kris comes out of his room. Drunk. Again. And he says to me, “Amy, I have bad news.” Yeah, Kris? Is the bad news that my house reeks of fucking cigarette smoke?! Don’t smoke in my fucking house! *Looks like a deer in headlights* “Uhh, I mean, I did, but it was in the back porch and I had the door to the kitchen closed.” (The “porch” is just a little landing between the kitchen and the basement.) I don’t care where you smoked in the house, don’t fucking do it again. It stinks. You know smoking isn’t allowed. Don’t.Fucking.Do it.Again. “I’m really sorry, it’ll never happen again. The bad news is actually that I’m moving out on the 15th.” (I fail to see the bad in this news.) He tells me he got another job and he’s moving back to Estevan. And of course he once again asks if I hate him and says I never talk to him. I explain that he’s been nothing but drama since he moved in and I want no part of it. So pay me my money on Friday, move on the 15th, and we’re all good.

Tuesday. I’m at work and he texts me to ask if I know where the Sasktel remote is. I tell him to look under the couch or in the cushions. He already did. Then I don’t fucking know, you idiot! He also tells me he doesn’t know what is happening with his new job now. They may not want him to start until freezeup. I don’t respond. I’ll wait for Friday to see if he pays rent before we talk about anything else. I look for this remote for the next few days. Nothing. I move furniture, dig into the couch, even look in the fridge. Nothing. I assume he had it while he was drunk and who knows where it ended up. Remember this little fact about the remote for the next post 😉

I don’t see much of him during the rest of the week, although the one day I want to take my iPad to work, I can’t find it. Uh oh. Thursday I’m woken up at 5:55am by someone knocking on the front door and I can hear a truck outside. The dogs bark and I hear him tell his dog to be quiet. (Sidenote: This poor dog still gets absolutely no attention. He’s constantly being told he’s bad and to lay down and stop and no and fuck off. He’s a bad pet dad.) I yell to him that someone is at the door. Moments later, I hear the truck drive away and I tell him that too. I’m going to guess that was his ride to work and he didn’t bother going in that day. Stay tuned for the weekend, kids!

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