So, for all you kids out there getting ready to think about college, or going off to college, or applying to college, or have heard of college, here are some words of wisdom from my brother, Mr. Funny, on how to get along with your roommate. Let him gently guide you through those first few weeks when you are no doubt scared and hopeful, nervous and excited, stoned and drunk. Because remember, college is all about fun and making new friends and exploring new and exciting ways to get drunk and shag strangers at parties.
Take it away, Mr. Funny!
***
The prospect of going to college with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) was unsettling to say the
least. I wanted to try to be “normal” and get the full college
experience with a same-room roommate. That’s how it is in college, yes?
Besides, what other options did I have as a freshman? When I got to
the University of Central Florida, I predicted it would be the cool
experience I never had as a socially inept nerd in a Miami public high
school of 4,000 people.
When I first got in contact with my roommate over the summer, Josh
seemed, well, cool. He was was into classic rock and we were on the same
page about dividing up what we’d bring. I’d provide the computer
and TV and he’d bring the phone (we didn’t all have cell phones
back then), ‘fridge, and stereo.
He got there a couple of days later than I did and had not arrived
with the ‘fridge. He brought an old phone with the numbers barely
attached and a stereo. My parents did that parental thing where they
took us all out to dinner to get to know him, and he and
my father bonded over weed, the cost, and the various qualities you
could get in South Florida. While my father and Josh became two peas in
a pod, I felt I had less and less in common with him. But, I was
there to be social.
That night, my father bought his new BFF and I
some booze and a ‘fridge. [Editor's note: Didn't he also buy Josh a "water-based tobacco pipe" at the local head shop?]
Then, one morning I woke up, eyes still shut, mind still half asleep
to what sounded like water dripping form an leaky air conditioner.
Starting to realize there was no boxed a/c unit in our centrally air
conditioned dorm suite I opened my eyes to find Josh, eyes closed in
front of the foot of my bed urinating both on the floor and on the box of
stuff I’d yet to unpack. My fears of sharing a room with someone
included him leaving dirty clothes and opened containers of food and
drinks around. My reality was a roommate who, seemingly unconsciously,
pissed on my stuff. Things were ruined! I mean, sure, my facial hair
had still not caught up with my age, but I hoped one day to be able to
use the electric razor I moved up with that was now soaked in piss.
Shaking and holding back vomit I yelled for him to wake up, and
finally tried to steer him toward his bed while getting piss on as
few things as possible. He did not wake up. I used his bath towel and
wiped up. Not wanting to go back to sleep and wake up thinking this was a
dream I immediately emailed my mom, sister, and best friend about
what happened. [Editor's note: That's the kind of email all big sisters enjoy waking up to.] Later on when he woke up I asked if he remembered what
happened. He didn’t. I explained and he was apologetic but in a way
like one would be if you accidentally ate your roommate's apple or
something. While I’m sure he didn’t realize I was so damaged by OCD, that shouldn't be an issue after you
urinate on someone’s property. Dogs mark their territory. Some primal
instinct in me also felt I had been intruded upon. I was filled with
rage, disgust, and an ape-like desire to fling my poo at
him!
But, I didn’t want to touch my poo.
Strike one!
Not soon after, when we returned from Labor Day
weekend visits to our home towns he brought back a plethora of drugs he
decided to sell to random people in our room. I, having just been in a
head-on collision on my drive back was not in the mood to deal with the
prospect of getting arrested with this guy.
Strike two!
There would be no "strike three." [Editor's note: So my brother moved out and had other gruesome, but not nearly as horrific, roommates. Including my future husband and the father of my children!]
OCD didn’t go away, and, in fact, some crazy stuff happened because
of it during my college experience, but at least I was away from Josh. I
saw him about a year later, sitting on the grass outside the Fine
Arts building staring out into nothing. I didn’t say “hi.” I just left
him to whatever it was he thought he was doing.
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