There is an unavoidable fact in this world, you will at some point live with a messy roommate. It is as unavoidable as seeking to discover just how much Ten High whiskey one can consume before you fight the couch because it said something about your mother, oh wait...
Anyways, there are a few things you can do about your situation. One, you can ask politely and hope to Your God that they might actually clean up their pile of dishes or maybe poke at the floor listlessly with a broom, at least. However, they are fuck all lazy and human beings are allergic to change. Two, you can jump on the table and start punching the ceiling and start ninja kicking the the air as if it is your estranged grandfather who you hate for doing that one stupid thing at that one restaurant oh so long ago. This, while entertaining, just simply won't do. Also, you may not have anyone to split rent with any longer. Third, you can get all passive aggressive and leave sticky notes everywhere and eventually maybe a dead squirrel under his bed (don't do this if you own cats! they really fucking hate squirrels ((especially if they are dead))). If you do this, fuck you. Buy some Vagisil and cry over some Thomas Grey (LITERARY BURN OHHHH).
As you can see, living with a messy roommate is not something you can deal with; living with a messy roommate, however, can be entertaining. (I always use semi-colons wrong. Seriously, fuck semi-colons. They are dicks with even bigger dicks). I decided that instead of trying to find a way to get him to clean up his shit, I would just start doing little experiments.
Here is the first: Roommate vs. Pie
Background: my roommate was kind enough to bring back some pies when he got back from Thanksgiving. I was entirely too excited to receive free pie but knew that a dark tide was just around the corner. How and who the fuck was going to gobble up all that pie?! It will go to waste?! It might turn rotten and cry to be put down like a dog!!?? WHAT. WILL. BECOME. OF. THE. PIE!
I knew that pie will turn on you after just four or five days and that is entirely too short of a time for my roommate to deal with things. That meant that I would have to be the one to lay the delicious pies to rest. This was just too much to bare. So, it dawned on me. The simplest of tests! How long does it actually take my roommate to follow through on the simplest of cleaning tasks: pick up food, carry to trash, deposit said food in said trash, pat oneself on back for days hard work. Also, I decided to leave them unrefrigerated to make it even easier to notice their decaying state.
Day one through seven (11/25 - 12/02):
The pies were nibbled on and, as expected, were not even close to being finished off by the time the crust started to get mushy and the pumpkin pie started to look sad.
Day nine (12/04):
The pumpkin pie has a couple spots of visible mold. If you are starving to death, you could almost give the apple pie a passing grade (almost). Roommate cooks bagel. Considers pie (it is right next to the toaster). My heart is a flutter to think that, alas, I may have discovered his threshold! Roommate returns to bagel. Fuck.
Day eleven (12/06):
The apple pie has fallen victim to the cold, cold heart of the darkest of dames: mold. The pumpkin pie is heartbreaking and possibly vomit inducing. Roommate scrounges around for a plate (hint: they are all in his room or piled in the sink). Roommate passes on the idea of plate and uses paper towel (right next to the toaster, which is right next to the pie) for his bagel (note to self: if roommate decides to throw furniture at me for publishing my journal, I may be able to counter his rage with his love of bagels.) (not to self: grab a few bagels from work). Pushes pie further back on the counter. Your God! He has made a deal with the mold! It is the only explanation! He saw! He must have saw! What are they paying him to look away? How does mold acquire currency?
Day thirteen (12/08):
The mold has spoken to me in my dreams. It knows that I am on to it. My cat seems on edge, is she in on it too? How did this happen?! What have I done?! It was such an innocent experiment! How was I supposed to know that I was tinkering with the very threads of reality? It must be destroyed. But, alas, my scientific brain holds strong. The experiment...must continue.
Day fifteen (12/10):
The mold. It is growing stronger. However, as I now fear sleep and have simply kept going with experimentation and countless tests. I have learned what I have unleashed. Apparently, there is a delicate balance in the relationship of humans and mold. It turns out, mold isn't just disgusting and occasionally life saving. It is the very essence of evil. It must be kept in check by the humans. Whether it be by throwing it away and burying it forever or in the close scrutiny of a lab. It must be kept in check. My poor roommate, he knows not of what is controlling him. It is no longer that he doesn't want to walk the two and a half feet from pie to trash can, it is that he simply cannot.
Day sixteen (12/11):
I have spoken with the mold through my dreams and have learned that the very reason I started this experiment was controlled by the mold. It knew I was very strong willed and would only ever not throw away food if it were in the name of science and an excuse to drink whiskey and laugh about moldy pie. There must be a way.
Day seventeen (12/12)
I have learned that the mold holds no power to those outside of the apartment. I must plot its devise somewhere else. But how to leave? How? Every time I attempt to leave this ghastly place the mold convinces me I have more science to do and I just can't leave if I have science to do! I know! I know what I must do! In a burst of youthful vigor I leap on to the table and begin to punch the ceiling with enough vigor to cause an potty incident in the puppy that lives upstairs. I kick with such gusto that even the homeless man that tries to sell me dead rats and rocks for $13.95 every Thursday would call me insane. I yelled the most garbled and broken phrases I could, "Hyundai...is a company that...WATCHES YOU FUCK GERBILS!" "My ass...HUNGERS FOR...CHEERIOS!" "Your mother...once...APPLEBEES! "BEEEEEESSSSS!" Just as my upstairs' neighbors started to furiously dial 911, a voice thundered from the pie.
"HE NO LONGER IS A MAN OF SCIENCE. HE IS A MAN OF DEBAUCHERY, RAMPANT ALCOHOLISM, AND...MAYBE BEES. SERIOUSLY, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS UP WITH THE BEES. HE IS USELESS."
The bond was broken. The curse, shattered. The gypsy tears, dried. The imaginary bees, hibernating.
I pulled up my pants (they ran away from my waist for fear of catching the crazy), flung myself from the table, and wrenched the pies from the counter top, "YOUR VILLAINY AND DICKISH NATURE IS OVER! I...I REALLY DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANTED FROM US. BUT...fuck. I...hold on, pie. I need a one liner. FUCK YOU JACK HANDY AND YOUR FUCKING PIE HEAVEN (second literary burn!)."
I threw the pie into the trash and with bright flash and one of those classic movie, "NOOOOOOOO" things that the villain always does, it was gone. The deed...was done.
Finally, my roommate emerged from his room. Shaking his head, the broken curse leaving him cold and strangely flatulent, "What...what the fuck?"
I looked at him, my glare could have cut down Samuel Jackson in his coldest of days, "BEEEEEEEESSSSS!"
*I love you roommate
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