re: Your best/worst roommate story

quote:

---

We walk up the stairs & crack the door. All I see is the bottoms of her feet, her arse, & the top of his head. Taken aback, & in the middle of their 69 session I asked, "You two want to go to Waffle House?" She turns her head & they look at each other. She shakes her head "no" so he looks up at us upside down & says, "Nah, we're good." And nods for me to close the door.

---

Another poignant vignette of two brothers and their sister at Mississippi State.

Your a bitch. I would have fricked someone up for that.

My roommate was dating the owner of the company that we were working for daughter. The owner the president and my roommate went on a job out of town. They came back a day early and walked in while I was railing the owner's daughter on the couch. Needless to say I was fired on the spot.

My roommate and I had a friend that we worked with. It was our friend's birthday so he went to the bar and got wrecked then stumbled to our house after the bar. We just so happened to be on the porch smoking a bowl when he walked up. This guy never smoked but insisted we give him a hit. He proceeded to take the biggest hit I've ever seen anyone take.

Of course, 20 mins later he was completely passed out on our couch so we put a garbage can near his head and went to sleep. Around 4 am I hear my roommate screaming all kinds of profanities in the bathroom so I went in to see what happened. As soon as I get to the bathroom, I see my roommate cleaning his feet off under the tub faucet. Then the smell of shite hit me. I look down and see poo smeared in a streak on the floor.

Apparently our friend was so fricked up he completely missed the toilet when trying to take a shite, then my roommate decided to take a piss. He opened the door, smeared the shite all over the floor, then proceeded to slip in it.

By the time he was done cleaning himself up he was laughing hysterically. He said if he didn't laugh, he was gonna cry.

In the 80's I lived in a duplex off Gardere. There was a Yankee white girl living with 2 Middle Eastern guys above us. One night we heard all kinds of crap going on above our bathroom--sounded like a party! Next thing you know, gross water was coming through the ceiling and down the walls. It was so gross!

I think I have you guys beat.

First off, just a basic description of this guy: he never bathed, never washed dishes, never washed laundry, and NEVER went to class.

This was 97 and we were renting one of those shitty duplexes on Oxford street right outside the southern gates on Highland. Rent was about $200/month for a 2 bedroom.

So, shitty house, shitty roommate.

Any way, he spends a summer selling encyclopedias door to.door in Alabama. This requires him to live as a broader in people's houses.

He comes home after 3 months of door to door sales and is itching up a storm. I mean to the point where he is creating scabs. My friends and I notice and tell him to go to the doctor. He comes back from the Dr and says it's a heat rash. One month later it's worse and we tell him to do something. He finally goes to a dermatologist.

Diagnosis: scabies. Mother fricking Scabies. And if you know anything about scabies you know they are a close cousin of the crab and are VERY contagious.

He had given me scabies and I in turn gave it to my new girlfriend of 2 months. I had to explain how she had a parasite because of me and my roommate. Can you imagine that conversation?

Having roomates or living in a dorm will introduce you to just how messed up people out there are. I have a dozen great stories from the 4 years I spent living on a wing of a small dorm/apartment on campus, with the same group of about 25 people populating the area all 4 years.

My roomate in my first year was a Texan named Jay. Great guy, tremendous alcoholic, and sometimes talented barfer.

I didn't realize this last fact, until mid-term.

I had a course taught by my advisor that was a joint undergrad/grad class; the requirements were different for grad students, and I lost my copy of the Syllabus. I borrowed a copy of the *graduate* course syllabus, which included a 30 page paper due at midterm-- I did this on a Friday afternoon, and the date for the paper was monday. I about shat my britches, and threw myself into a writing frenzy.

All Friday night, all Saturday day, and into Saturday night, I wrote like a mad man. I had about 25 pages down, and decided I needed to sleep, maybe go to church, and wrap that paper up Sunday. I was just beat, and thinking about going to bed at about 7 in the evening, when Jay pops up and asks 'Hey, you want to go drink so much beer you can't walk until Tuesday?' I politely decline by telling him to go screw himself, and he heads off to the party. No big deal, right?

The set up of the apartment came into play here; there were essentially 2 rooms, with a common kitchen/living area and bathroom. It wasn't anything fancy, but it worked well enough. Anyway, each of the sub-rooms had their own heating/cooling control knob thing; this was in a really cold snap in late October. It'll come into play later.

Well, I decide before I fall asleep that I need to polish my shoes, in case I go to church because they looked like hell, and I leave them right by the door to the dorm/apartment. Finally happy to be able to do something other than write a mid-term paper, I get the shoes done, and fall asleep on the couch.

Jay apparently stumbled in sometime during the night, and managed to puke *inside* my left dress shoe. I wake up a little late, and hustle to get ready for church. Just before I head out the door, I try to slip on my shoes, and when I put my foot in the left shoe, it felt like I stepped in creamed corn.

I took off the shoe, cursing up a storm, when I noticed that he'd also filled the bowl on the kitchen table with barf- again, no spillover. I was still 9 kinds of pissed, and wanted to beat his arse with that shoe, so I barge into his room, to find him passed out in his own bed, covered in his own vomit-- but not a drop had hit the floor.

I threw the shoe at him, called him a stupid a-hole, and told him to clean up his mess. Which, to his still sick-credit, he did- he dry heaved a ton, while doing so, with what little he had left in his system making it into a trash can-- again, zero spillover.

He shuffled off to bed, and passed the hell out. I called my GF, told her I was going to finish my paper at her place and spend the rest of the weekend. She was game. I turned the heat on in his room, as high as it would go, then disconnected the little turn knob thing that you could use to regulate the temperature, and turned it back to the mid 70s.

He baked in his own vomit-stenched room until he woke up on Monday morning. I swang back by the apartment, to get clean clothes before heading back to class, and he had maintenance in the place to try to fix his defective heater.

It was mild vengance, but he deserved it. I still can't eat creamed corn.

quote:

---

So you essentially did the 30 page paper for nothing since you were undergrad?

---

Pretty much. Twenty years removed from the experience, I chalk it up as advanced payback for making him sleep in his own puke oven.

At the time, not much of it was funny. Looking back, though, it was.

Omg, scabies are really disgusting