Roommate Hell, The Prequel
No, this wasn't Hotdog Boy. This was Romeo, who actually preceded Hotdog Boy by about a year and a half. He was every bit as bad, albeit, in a completely different way.
A brief bit of history: Romeo wore nothing but designer clothes, Kenneth Cole watches (yes plural,) Guess leather jackets, and spent most of his nights clubbing. The thing was, he never seemed to have any money for food. Thus he did what any young urban hipster would do, he ate his roommate's (read: my) food. This was the start of our beautiful relationship.
And what would Romeo be without a Juliet? She was a pretty, although somewhat bitchy girl who spent lots of time in the bathroom in the mornings. Which, of course, forced me to either wake up extra early, or be late for work. I generally avoid conflict if possible, and so I dealt with Romeo and Juliet the only way I knew how. I ignored them. Or tried to. I moved most of my food into my bedroom, and tried to ignore the occasional swiping of the little food I did keep in the kitchen. I tried to ignore the resonating clamor of them doing the slammin' watusi at 2:00 AM.
So, time strolled agonizingly along, and I continued to tell myself it was only a few more months before he would move out The romantic harmony of my roomates gradually began to disintegrate. A few snide remarks here and there, brief screaming matches, etc. etc. Until one night the screaming carried on into the small hours of the morning. I lay there, contemplating the precious few hours I still had to sleep, when something struck my wall. WTF?
"Listen to me! I didn't . . ."
"No! No! No! You lying little f___!" Her voice lilted as her last word coincided with a bang against the wall. Oh shit. He's beating her. What the hell do I . . . Another explosion sounded against the wall, this time rattling a picture of its nail.
As you may have guessed, I'm not exactly the badass type, and I knew Romeo (who worked out five days a week) probably wouldn't appreciate an intrusion on in his little one-sided sparring match. So, when I say I pulled on a pair of jeans and stepped to his door, it wasn't with any bravado, but only with a somewhat shakey resolve that I was probably, most likely, going to get my ass kicked. Not only was I going to get my ass kicked, but kicked in the defense of a girl I didn't really know, and didn't really like all that much.
Dog psychology. You may not be able to beat his ass, but you might be able to intimidate him. Adrenaline rioted through my veins. I took a deep breath and threw open the door.
Juliet had her back to me, and her crying had devolved into a hysterical wailing. Romeo was sitting across the room on his bed with his face in his hands. Resting up for the next round, I guessed.
Go in strong. Catch him off guard. I took a step forward,
and saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I turned just in time to see
Juliet hit the wall, not with her fist, but with her whole body. She was
throwing herself up against the wall.
What
the
f . . .?
Romeo looked up, saw me standing there, and started apologizing.
"Sorry dude, she's just blowing everything out of proportion."
Juliet turned around and managed to reduce her wailing to a muffled blubbering. Me? I just shook my head and went back to my room. Adrenal glands now empty, I dozed off to the muffled sound of his apologies and her crying.
The next morning, Juliet was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of my coffee. I took a shower, and got ready for work. The last time I saw her, she was brewing yet another pot of coffee and eating a bowl of my cereal.
Pity, actually, I was rather beginning to think they were made for each other.
