A Rant About My Roommates

Sigh.

I didn’t complain to both of you on move-in day when I walked into my apartment only to realize that not only was the A/C broken, but that my kitchen, bathroom and bedroom were filthy. I didn’t throw up when I saw the molded food and dead bugs in the bottom of the refrigerator. I didn’t shake my head when I saw the old tracks of hair and toothbrushes in the vanity drawers. And though I only came dressed and prepared to move in a few boxes, I ended up sweaty, exhausted and threw away three whole trash bags of junk. I called you all, confused as to how everything could be so junky if it hadn’t been inhabited all summer. When you, roommate one, told me that you’ve been living in this apartment for two years and broke the rules to allow a friend to stay in your room while they were taking summer school classes, I didn’t say a word. I assumed that this mess had to be the work of someone else. Who would allow a friend who doesn’t pick up after themselves to stay in the apartment unattended? You claimed when you left to go home this summer, the apartment was spick and span and that the culprit who left the mess was unbeknownst to you. Then, when I asked you, roommate two, who, like me, had never lived in said apartment, if you have moved in anything in yet, you informed me that you saw the mess and felt the heat two days prior to my arrival and didn’t think to tell either me or roommate one about it. I thought it was a bit odd that though you acted so worried about the wreck happening in our home, you didn’t think to mention anything to housing facilities.

I figured, though you both were second and third-year students, that you all were just unfamiliar with the way unlivable conditions work and I called facilities myself. They did the obvious jobs; paint, throw away everything in the bathroom and refrigerator and fix the A/C. But all the nitty gritty work was done by me. The cleaning of the oven. The bleaching of the fridge. The sweeping and mopping of the kitchen floor. The disposal of the chicken bones under the couch cushions. The re-organization of all the kitchen cabinets and drawers. The washing of the 3-month-old dishes in the sink.

I even pushed back my move-in date several days in order to make multiple trips to Richmond to ensure that I was living in an apartment that was up to par with how any normal, breathing, decent person would want to live.

So now that it is halfway through the semester and I am slowly seeing the apartment I worked so hard to upkeep transform into what it once was, I am upset. The dishes in the sink, the constant reminders to throw away old leftovers, and the stained microwave make me cringe. The toothpaste stains on the mirror and the stepping on crumbs on the kitchen floor disgust me. And while you both have great personalities, your consideration of others’ time and hard work is trash. I’m tired of playing Molly Maid to two grown women who are capable of doing so themselves. Being dirty isn’t cool. I feel like the mother of two pre-teen aged children. And also, start communicating when your boyfriends’ are staying over so I can stop awkwardly walking out of my bedroom pants-less to a random man doing laundry.

End Rant.