It’s the time of the year when roommates are getting on each other’s last nerve because everyone has been stuck in a tiny living space together, and everyone is stressed because of the end of semester grind, of course. However, that’s not my case — for me, the drama started one week after move-in.
I met my roommates my freshman year on my residence hall floor. We clicked, and I was basically living in their dorm with how often we hung out. I was best friends with Rachel, while her roommate, Monica, was sometimes there. Turns out Monica loved to stir up drama, and Rachel failed to tell me this before signing a lease and us all moving in together. The unfortunate part of this was that Rachel was like a puppy and followed Monica’s nasty lead — so I’ve been ganged up on, two against one, the entire year.
One of the first things that we fought about was our apartment door. Monica didn’t want it locked. Umm, what? We are living in a, city and it’s not that hard to get into our apartment building, doors should always be locked. In fact, we even had a notice sent out that a homeless man was sleeping on the tenth-floor hallways! Monica thought the doors only had to be locked when nobody was home. I don’t know about you, but when I come home to an unlocked door, I get weary. Maybe growing up, Monica was sheltered from the fact that bad people break into homes — and leaving doors unlocked makes it even easier! I talked to her about it, and she didn’t respect my wishes to feel safe in my own apartment.
One night I had a friend over for, maybe, five minutes — because he had walked me home. Monica came in and rolled her eyes at us. I didn’t think anything of it, until the next day I was sitting in a class about to take a quiz and I got a novel-length text explaining how she “didn’t appreciate me having someone over that she didn’t know without her knowing he was there.” Apparently, “he could have stolen something when I wasn’t looking.”
So, let me get this straight for you guys — Monica is fine with leaving the door open for anyone who pleases to come in, but she doesn’t trust someone I know — who was nice enough to walk me home, may I add — to be in our apartment. After this, we made an “agreement,” I had to let them know a day in advance everyone who might enter the apartment with me, and they will keep the door locked. Heck, I barely know my class schedule, how am I going to plan when I’m going to have friends over and remember to let them know? And did Monica actually lock the door? Not until I talked to her about it three more times, when one day I got out of the shower to find that I was home alone and the door was unlocked.
Thank you, Monica, for making me feel unsafe and uneasy in the place I should feel the safest.
And, oh boy, it gets better. I was having friends over every now and then to study for quizzes or exams. I got another lengthy text from both my roommates about how I should ask before I have someone over. Okay, mom and dad, can I please have my friend over? I swear they’ll be gone before my bedtime! That’s exactly how it felt — I was having to ask for permission to have people over when my own parents aren’t even that strict!
I drew the line there. I told them, “I have been letting you know, if you have that big of a problem with someone coming over a certain day, just tell me, but I’m not asking for permission every time.” Whenever I would slip up, I received lengthy text messages badgering me for everything that I did wrong. Now, when I actually did have people over, both Monica and Rachel wouldn’t say hi or acknowledge them, even if my guests greet them first. I’ve had multiple people comment on their rudeness and how they built up so much tension in the room. I’ve learned to warn people to not take it personally.
Thank you, Monica and Rachel, for making all my guests feel unwelcome and uneasy and for making me feel like I’m ten years old.
If they ever did something I thought was wrong, I would approach them in person. For example, please don’t ruin my cookware, please use the spoon holder instead of burning the crap out of my wooden spoons, please lock the door. Could you guys check dishes before putting them away? It’s kinda gross to notice that the dishes and silverware I’m using have old caked on food that was never washed off. Rachel’s response, “Mmhm, okay.” Monica’s response, *eye roll* “Sure,” *eye roll.*
Thank you, Monica and Rachel, for making my requests feel dumb and stupid. Thanks for making me feel I can’t confront you about anything without feeling guilty. Thank you, Monica, for teaching me how to roll my eyes.
No more than a month into the school year, I was already wishing it was over simply because of Rachel and Monica. I was searching for new roommates that wouldn’t walk all over me and make me feel small. I began to get panic attacks when I saw Monica typing on Snapchat, worrying over what I did wrong now. I stopped talking to them since they were already acting like I didn’t exist. They didn’t acknowledge me when I was in a room. They didn’t try to be quiet when I was napping, and they would always blast music or sing at the top of their lungs.
Monica would yell at me when she thought the show I was watching was too loud, even if I could barely hear it myself. I’ve learned that Monica likes to watch her crime shows on repeat, and if I ever got to the TV first she would do whatever possible to make it known that she didn’t like it. Rachel even complained about Monica’s shows, but being the puppy dog she is, she never said anything or backed me up. Rachel would talk to me about how Monica was being a bitch and annoying her. We even cried together when I pointed out she was following Monica’s lead and teaming up against me. Rachel admitted she was treating me unfairly and had fallen under Monica’s lead. Unfortunately, that talk only made a difference for a week.
Thank you, Monica, for making the one activity I used to de-stress, as stressful as possible. Thank you, Rachel, for being a two-sided friend who I can no longer consider a friend.
They don’t think I hear them whispering about me, but I can usually hear their conversations loud and clear across the apartment without trying — and all of a sudden when it drops to a whisper, it’s not hard to guess what they are talking about. It wasn’t even winter yet, and I found the heat at 82 degrees, I turned it down. Monica came out in shorts and wet hair and yelled “What are you doing? It’s freezing!” She turned it back up, and I stayed quiet — it was still 45 degrees outside. They tried keeping the heat so high that I would overheat with shorts and a t-shirt on and become physically nauseous. Monica then wondered why the electric bill was so high … What was her solution? Ban the dishwasher. That’s right, something that runs only once or twice a week was the culprit of our raised electric bill. It was most definitely not the heat or her bedroom lamp that she likes to keep on even when she’s not in her room — because how will she see at night? I even requested to use the dishwasher — because I was getting sick so often — wondering if I was reinfecting myself no matter how hard I scrubbed the silverware. I was also thinking of them and not wanting them to catch the nasty bugs I was getting. She said no.
Thank you, Monica, for thinking the world revolves only around you and you can control everyone around you, it’s made for a fun time living with you.
It’s now the end of the year. They do not talk to me, we silently fight over freezer space, and they are taking my things. I’m the first to move out, so I’m starting to take the shared items that are mine, or so I thought. The muffin pan was on my packing list, but okay, keep it! I don’t distinctly remember bringing it. The paper towel holder, uhh, I remember debating whether to get the fancy metal one or the plain silver in the target aisles with my best friend — ultimately going with the slim silver and cheaper option. For this debate, Monica decided to barge into my room while I was still waking up and yell at me, making it clear it was in fact hers. So, I put it back, basically giving it to her to avoid any more conflict. I alerted them that I’ll be taking the shower curtain rings, Rachel tried to claim they are hers. I responded that I knew for a fact that was a part of the first apartment gift basket my sister gave me.
Thank you, Monica and Rachel, for trying to take my things, making me doubt my memory, and adding all this stress to an already stressful time.
I find myself jumping if I think I hear Monica’s voice echoing down the apartment hallway — yes, she talks that loud all the time. I hide away in my room and on the mornings that I know Monica is extra moody, I don’t come out until I know she’s gone. Monica just has a very bad vibe about her, and I never believed in auras or vibes until her. I don’t need her bad attitude affecting me.
Rachel and Monica have made me feel small, belittled and dumb. I don’t always feel safe in my apartment, and I’m never safe from conflict with them. I tread around like a mouse, careful to not disturb them or do anything they could possibly think is wrong. I have eleven more days of this hell, and then I am free. Hopefully, when you are reading this I am happily enjoying the sun with my new kitten.
I hope you never have to live with people like this, it isn’t fun and it has affected my grades. Please, I ask of all of you — be mindful and respectful of the people you live with, even if you aren’t friends. Be kind and be strong!
*Note: Names have been changed for privacy reasons and I have nothing against the Friends characters Monica and Rachel, in fact, it is my favorite show.*