Monday, 30 September 2013

Flatmates from hell...

So someone on Twitter was asking for flat-mate horror stories and I tweeted, ‘I had one who used to shoot at people out the window –does that count?  And the one who moved his entire family into the living room.’
And he said, 'Go on...' And then I kept remembering others who were worse.  Far worse.  And went hurtling back down memory lane again. And figured I needed a list. 

My top ten worst flat-mates.
So, in no particular order, here you have it.

1. The One Who Shot Things Out The Window.  tbf, it was only an air rifle and he mainly shot rats and rabbits (to eat).  Unless he forgot his meds or someone pissed him off.  Also in possession of three ferrets.

2. The One Who Took Over the Living Room.  Lovely guy, really lovely, but one day I came back to find his sister living in the living room.  ‘Just for a bit,’ he said.  She was swiftly joined by his girlfriend, his parents and their cat.  It got mighty crowded in there.   And a trifle smelly.  

      3. The One Who Tried To Kill Me While I Lay Sleeping in My Bed.  Lovely girl.  Just a trifle unhinged.  One night she stormed into my bedroom and laid about my head with a Paul Masson carafe of wine (empty).  Scary as hell.  The choice of wine, that is.  

Yes, like this...but with wine in it.
      4. The One Who Gobbed.  Nasty little toe-rag.  Used to stand at the top of the stair and fire gobs at the bike parked in the hallway.  Also cheated on the phone bill.  Young Conservative (an oxymoron, surely?).  Worst of all, wore really bad jeans.
      
      5. The One Who Saw Ghosts.  Put the fear of gods into everyone with her mediumistic powers. I mean, how do you concentrate on having a crap when you’ve been told the toilet is haunted by a six foot tall male ghost?  It’s…offputting.     

This is a bona fide toilet ghost.
      6. The One Who Was Too Right-On.  Once again, dead nice just… worthy.  House became full of enormous art installations with titles like ‘The Bleeding Womb’.  My high heels were sacrificed on a pyre;  I had to hide my make-up bag and was forced to keep my tampons under lock and key (real women don’t hide their blood away).  Became self-conscious because apparently I hadn’t communed with my vagina enough and preferred sex with (whisper it) men
      
           7. The One Who Thought He Could Do Voodoo.  Boy, did I love that guy.  And went along with it all for a fair while – the not sleeping for three nights at a time malarkeys, the vampire hunts, the astral orienteering. But he got into the wrong sort of spirits and having someone screaming, ‘I’m cursing you! You’re so goddamn cursed for curse’s sake!’ at four in the morning gets…tiresome. 

      8. The One Who Was Too Political.  I mean, I was a good socialist back then.  I even canvassed in a half-hearted sort of way (though it was pretty boring preaching to the converted). But when you couldn’t even squeeze through the door of your own flat because of yet another meeting of the Bermondsey Liberation Front, it got too much.  I retaliated by hauling home bunches of random South Africans to sleep on the floor and it all got a bit…uncomfortable.

      9.  The One Who Hid.   On paper the ideal flat-mate – clean, silent,  inconspicuous, her portion of the rent and bills left on the table without fail each week.  But it started doing my head in.  Was she in or out?  How did she manage to get up the stairs without making one single step creak?  After a while I couldn’t even remember what she looked like.  I left her a note: ‘Is this working out?’ She left one back: ‘Probably not’.  And left.

      10. The One Who Was Boring.  Actually, come to think of it, he really was the very worst of all.  J

‘You know what?’ said Kelly on Twitter.  ‘You really ought to live alone.’ 

‘Couldn’t agree more, ‘ I said.    

Anyhow, over to you - worse flat/room/house shares ever?  



11 comments:

Zoe said...

A Vietnamese girl - about 4 foot tall and hair down to here knees which appeared everywhere - you couldn't touch anything without encountering her tresses - bathroom floor was the worst. Gawd, just shuddered at the thought of it !

Midlife Singlemum said...

After finding greasy mugs and bowls in the cupboard I asked her how she washed them up. "Oh," she asked, surprised, "you have to wash the outsides as well?"

Another had had so much therapy for her low self esteem that she was now secure with the knowledge that nothing was her fault and she deserved the best of everything without a thought for anyone else.

And all the ones who just don't see mess or dirt anywhere even when things are getting squalid. This includes the one who, on moving out after six months and when I asked dher to sweep her room, asked me if I had a broom.

Frances said...

Oh Jane, you've had much more flatmate experiences (good or bad) than I ever did.

I do know what you mean about boring though.

xo

Expat mum said...

I think we lived in London around the same time but I was over in the West End. I had loads of flatmates (at one point I lived in a four bedroom house and I was the only one who was there for the entire four years.) Most of them were a bit batty, loud or selfish but I don't recall anyone giving me the heebee jeebees.
There was one Australian girl (didn't we all share with an Aussie at one point?) who had been followed from Sydney by a crazed ex-lover. He would appear on the doorstep at 2am from time to time demanding to speak to her; as she was about 5 foot tall and terrified of him, I was always the one to deal with him. Luckily, I was usually so crabby at having been woken up at that hour, I had no problem in telling him to sod off.

Maste said...

Re 3. So... empty but with wine in it? :o)
Re 5. Offputting and... backpulling, huh? :o)

Ashen said...

Oh Jane, my tummy hurts, and you’ve started a flood of thoughts …
First that pops up … way back during the communal phase one of the places us hippies lived in was an old village restaurant. Rooms had oil heaters that needed filling from a tank in the barn. People used a plastic gardening can. A post grad science student topped up his oven while it was still hot, and for some strange reason deposited the plastic can on top of the oven. It melted and the remaining oil set his room on fire. To safe time he also read textbooks while stirring his food, often letting it burn before his nose. His doctorate was in chemistry.

Exmoorjane said...

@Zoe - That reminds me of the Iraqi girl I shared a flat with at university - at first I thought she had actually had a shit in the bath...(it was my first encounter with henna!). Dry shed hair is yuck, but I have a revolting love of pulling wet bracelets of hair out of plug-holes. :)

@Rachel - Umm...have horrible suspicion I could be your flatmate from hell (re #3) :D

@Frances - Not sure if this is a good thing. :) But yes, boring...the guy I'm thinking of was so boring I can't even remember his name.

@EPM - You know, I have never shared with an Aussie. But have certainly shared with people in possession of crazed ex-lovers. :)

@Ma - Oops. :D To clarify, the wine had all been emptied but the carafe wasn't clear of its remains.

@Ashen - But of course it was! We once had a mouse that took up residence in our cooker and exploded it (and, miraculously, not itself - though it was saved from explosion only to be ingested by one of the cats). Not sure if it had a doctorate though. :)

Chunky Mamil said...

The one who was incontinent when drunk, lost our deposit because he rotted the bed...and the sofa

Exmoorjane said...

@Chunky - You win! I don't often LOL but...LOL.

Sandie said...

Worst flatmate? Cockroaches.

Mud said...

I had one gay flatmate who had a penchant for young Chinese boys (and joined the Free Tibet society for the purpose of picking them up) but then used to leg it early in the morning leaving confused teenagers who didn't speak English littering the kitchen looking forlorn.

Not an easy situation to explain at 7am...by sign language.