It’s Better To Go Random: A Roommate Horror Story

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“Have you seen my phone charger?”

“Oh yeah. I have it, I couldn’t find mine so I got yours.”

This had to be a joke.  I know sharing is caring, but I’d only been living with this girl for two weeks and she has already made herself more than comfortable with all of my stuff. I once went to print out my English paper, only to find the printer was out of black ink — it turns out my roommate had been helping herself to ink and paper and providing my printer to all of her friends without asking. These might sound like a minor infractions, but the charger and free prints weren’t even the half of it.

Prior to entering our first year of college, the major question many of us ask is “Will I like my roommate?” I couldn’t have been more excited to share a room. Going random seemed a bit risky, so I decided to go the Facebook route and find someone who seemed compatible to, you know, “play it safe.” Safe was so far from who I ended up with.

My roommate and I planned to meet up for the first time over the summer. She told me about this place we could meet halfway between our hometowns, eat and talk about things we might want to get for the room. Based on her description, I figured it was some sort of restaurant.

Wrong. I walked up to nothing other than a witch shop. A freaking witch shop, you know with potions and magic spells. Incense filled the air, bottles and bags filled with rocks, herbs, dirt and plants lined the walls. Candles were everywhere and beads hanging from random places whacked me in the face whenever I moved even an inch. Too bad the witches inside couldn’t predict the future and tell me to get the “make my roommate sane” potion.

To be perfectly honest, it really wasn’t the witch shop that got me, it was how she acted. As we walked around she was really inspecting the potions she wanted. Not only that, but she began asking me my plans for the first day of school, saying how we needed to do everything together.

When I got home from the meeting, my mom asked how it went. “Well mom, I can already tell you we won’t be friends.” Not being friends, I could handle, but I never thought in a million years I would go through what was to transpire.

During the next few weeks, we coordinated via text about who would bring the essentials — the wireless router, the Brita filter. Things that you know you don’t need a duplicate. Seems normal, right? Actually, my roommate seemed more concerned about whether or not I’d be bringing clothes to college. Yes, I was bringing sweaters, and jeans and shoes. No, that does not mean you shouldn’t bring them, too. I wasn’t planning on making my closet a communal resource.

Then, August came. Before long, my roommate became too comfortable. She would get out of the shower and sit on her desk butt naked. Sometimes I would come back with her lying in my bed. She even had her bed lofted and refused to get a ladder, leaving me to deal with the sound of Tarzan climbing up and swinging down her perch at least four times a day.

Not even a month into school, came that fateful evening. I came home to find the room empty. “An evening without feeling out of place in my own room,” I thought. So, naturally, I relaxed and wound up falling asleep early. Unfortunately, I awoke to the sound of Tarzan climbing into bed moments later. I stayed still, pretending not to notice.

Next thing I know, I hear Tarzan swinging out of bed. I figured she was going to the bathroom, but the room door didn’t open. Then it happened. I felt something crawling on the end of my bed.

She kept crawling further and further into the bed until she was practically on top of me. “What the f—k are you doing?” I shrieked.

Before I could even blink, I felt my sheets get warmer. Yes, my roommate was peeing on me. I was frozen. Petrified, I couldn’t move or even utter so much as a scream. After a couple moments I finally got some momentum and was able to yell, “What the hell are you doing to me?”

“I’m peeing on you for sustainability of the environment,” she told me, matter-of-factly. That was it. I finally broke free of her grip and ran down the hallway only to have her follow after me until I was safely in a neighbor’s room.

Everyone on my floor was a little weirded out by the incident, both guys and  girls. The strangest part was, she didn’t even care. She wasn’t even the least bit embarrassed. She was loud and proud about how she peed on her roommate. Finally, after two weeks of sleeping on a neighbors rug she finally decided it was best to move out.

Never again will I complain about a roommate who doesn’t make the bed every morning or is a bit sloppy. If you’re having trouble with your college roommate, chances are you can rest easy knowing your jeans stay in your closet and your sheets are urine-free.

Marley is a junior studying Film and English at Penn State University. She is an avid watcher of Netflix documentaries and addicted to reading “shower thoughts” on Reddit.

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