Shortly after my roommate had first moved in, he asked me if I had a pair of nail clippers he could borrow. I gave him a spare pair I had, not the pair I use all the time. He takes it into his room and returns a minute later apologizing because he broke my nail clippers. He was trying to cut his toenails and they broke my nail clippers. They broke them. Right in half. Speaking of toenails, the one day, I woke up and went to have a bath and sink down into the bathtub and something catches my eye. I turn and look and sitting on the shelf by the tub at eye level are the thickest, yellowest pieces of toenail that I’ve ever seen in my life. I started gagging and had to cover them up. When my bath was finished, I used some tissue to gather them up and then sprinkled them in his bed.
There was a night, early on when we lived together when I went out. It was a Friday night and a friend and I had gone for drinks and dancing and I arrived home in the wee hours of Saturday morning and went to bed. The house was quiet. I’m snuggled in my bed, sleeping off the booze when I wake up to my blankets being ripped off my naked body and a female voice telling me she’s cold and to move over. I’m groggy and hungover and start to move over, my immediate thought being that my friend spent the night on the couch and didn’t have enough blankets. Then remembered I came home alone and I don’t know who the fuck is talking to me. I roll over and open my eyes and it’s some girl I’ve never seen before and she’s still telling me she’s cold and to let her in the bed. I say something along the lines of, “What? Who are you? Why are you in my room? Get out!” “But I’m cold.” “I don’t fucking care, get out.” “Just let me get in and warm up for a little bit.” “No! Are you fucking kidding me? Get the fuck out of my room!” “But..” “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING BEDROOM!!!” She finally leaves and I go back to sleep. I wake up a little while later and can hear music and assume she’s watching TV way louder than she needs to be, so I get up, I go out into the house and she’s on the couch and has my roommate’s alarm clock and is passed out with the radio blasting. I turn it off and go back to my room and back to bed. By the time I wake up again, she’s finally gone. The next time I see my roommate, I tell him what happened and he apologizes profusely, he had no idea, and assures me it won’t happen again.
It was always a little weird whenever he had people over. He rarely spent any time in the house that wasn’t in his bedroom. So they would hang out in his bedroom. And he would never answer the door. He would be expecting his friend or brother to come over and he’d be sleeping. I’d be watching TV and then have to answer the door. I wouldn’t have actually answered the door except that our front door was never locked because the door didn’t shut properly. We had a sun porch, so there was a second door that we kept locked (after I had to make it clear to him that yes, we do in fact lock the door to the house when we leave), but anyone could come in the front door and then see through the windows in the door into the house. This meant that when I was sitting on the couch watching TV, it was impossible to ignore the face looking through the window. Believe me, I tried. And whenever I left for a few days, I would always come home to his brother hanging out in the livingroom. Alone. He would be in his room, usually sleeping, and his brother would just be hanging out watching tv, not cleaning up after himself. I didn’t mind him having his brother being over, but even when he knew I would be home, he wouldn’t make sure his brother took off. The one time I left for a few days and came back, I walked in and the house stunk like cooking oil. Like, really stunk. And his brother was on my couch eating homemade fries and bannock. I asked where Jesse was and he said sleeping. The cooking would have been ok, except that shortly after I came home, he left and didn’t clean up after himself. And neither did Jesse. There was oil EVERYWHERE. They had used both of my frying pans for this little adventure and completely ruined one of them. I’m surprised there wasn’t a fire started. All the paper towel was gone (of which I was the only one to ever buy). And there was food left out. I finally ended up cleaning the kitchen because he left and didn’t come home for a couple of days.
The key. Obviously when he moved in, I have him a key to the house. After a couple weeks of realizing he never locked the door, I had to tell him to lock the door. I thought that was common sense, but it was not. I had a spare key in the bbq, just in case. I’ve been known to lose a key or two in my day, so it’s always a good idea for me to have a spare around. My parents came to visit for Agribition in November and I met them at the event. We left to meet my brother for lunch, but we took my parents’ truck and I left my car there. When we got back, parking was a mess, so I dropped my parents off and said I would go home for an hour or two and then meet them later. It’s not until I get home that I realize my house keys were in my car. I go to grab the spare key and it’s gone. I text my roommate and yes, he has it. I’m pissed. This isn’t the first time and I can’t believe I have to explain to this idiot again that the point of the spare key is to be there as a spare. The next day I have another key made and I leave it in the porch and tell him that I’m tired of him losing his key and leaving it places and then taking the spare so I’m leaving one in the porch so it’s as easy as possible for him to put it back. It wasn’t a great hiding place, but it was out of site. Our porch was just used for storage so I put it in a basket with some scarves right beside the door. After a week or so, I had to explain to this kid that even though it wasn’t a great hiding spot, it was better than him leaving it beside the basket instead of covering it with the fucking scarf in the goddamn basket! So he started doing that. I started using that key too instead of carrying my house keys when I went out or when I walked Walter. And then I come home one day and the key is gone. Luckily, I had put a second spare key in a second hiding spot. I asked my roommate about it and he said he had taken it. So I said that was now his key there there was another spare one and do not take it again! Everything is good for months. Until I come home from work one day and the key is gone. Luckily I had my own key with me and could still get in the house. I text my roommate about it and his response is, “Yeah, I thought I’d take it with me today.” My response is, “What the fuck for? It’s the fucking spare key and I use it too. What if I’d just been out for a walk? Put the key back when you get home and don’t fucking take it again!” He apologizes and then tells me he’s trying to get his license to help him get a new job. He has his learner’s, but he needs to practice and would it be ok for him to take my car to practice with one of his friends that has a license. I couldn’t even believe the nerve of this kid. I can’t trust him to leave a fucking key under a scarf and he wants me to let him drive my car?! I gave him a straight up FuckYourMother No.
Once in awhile he would come out of his room and go to the front door and then come back in with a bag of food. I don’t know if it was from his grandma or what it was, but he’d put it in the fridge and it was always leftovers of some sort. Sometimes he would go to the door and then come back with nothing. I always wondered what he was doing, but didn’t think too much of it. And then one night he wasn’t around or maybe was sleeping. Actually, I think he was sleeping and I had to answer the door in my housecoat. There was a girl there who asked if he was home. I said I didn’t know. She handed me $20 and said he had asked her to drop that off for him. It reminded me of the time I found a $20 bill in our mailbox, so I brought it into the house and held onto it for a couple of days, thinking that if it was for Jesse, he would ask me if I’d found money in the mailbox. He didn’t, so I kept it. So, either mystery money, or I stole $20 that was meant for him. Oh well.
During the last 6 months or so of us living together, he had trouble paying his rent on time. As in, he didn’t pay it on time. He had been going to school for a few months and was at the point between school and work and wasn’t getting paid. Except he didn’t tell me this until I asked the day after rent was due where his rent money was. Normally he would e-transfer it on the 1st or sooner. He was pretty consistent with that most of the time we lived together so I thought maybe he just hadn’t realized it was the 1st of the month. Nope. Turns out he knew the date, he just didn’t have any money and didn’t tell me, and he wouldn’t have rent for a week or two. So I asked, well is it a week or is it two? Because one week, not a major problem. Two weeks, we’re starting to have a problem. Guess which it was? I told him in the future, if he’s going to be late, he needs to give me a head’s up before the 1st so that I can budget for it. But to not be late because when he is, I have to cover that. Rent has to be paid. He said ok. The next month comes. I get paid on the last day of the month and have some bills I pay on that day. So I did that, normal routine. 10:30pm he texts me and says he won’t have rent until Friday. It’s Monday night. And I just paid a bunch of bills. He took what I told him the month before as literally as possible. This continued on for the next 4 months, except he didn’t let me know in advance, ever. And then he got laid off. I had decided to move and was looking at places, but hadn’t given my notice to the landlord yet. I didn’t want to have anyone coming to look at the house and tip him off. Given his past history, he might think it was ok to just ditch out on me. So I gave him the minimum required notice of one month. And that was the time that he was a week early with his rent and did a bunch of house cleaning. I woke up one morning and he had obviously spent part of the night cleaning. When I went to bed, his pile of dishes was still there. When I woke up, the dishes were done and put away, everything was wiped down, and the floors were…well, he had attempted to clean them. The sun was shining in through the kitchen window and at first I thought maybe it was the light that made the floor look weird. The kitchen flooring was black tile and it looked grey. Upon closer inspection, it WAS grey. It had been raining that week and there were Walter paw prints that hadn’t been cleaned yet. I’m not sure what he used to wash the floor. Quite possibly the dishcloth from the sink. And essentially just dampened the dirt that was on the floor and moved it around to evenly cover it, end to end. Good effort.
Stay tuned for the moving out story!