Roommate Roulette: Tales from My Craigslist Adventures (Including the One Who Collected Toenails)
Roommate Roulette: Tales from My Craigslist Adventures (Including the One Who Collected Toenails)
I've had 12 roommates in 5 years. Yes, including Toenail Terry. Let me explain.
Apparently, 47% of millennials still live with roommates in major cities, which makes me feel slightly better about my ongoing adventure in communal living. Though I'm pretty sure none of those statistics account for roommates who collect body parts. (More on that horror show in a minute.)
The Label Queen Remember when I wrote about my organizational crisis? Well, meet the inspiration behind my label-maker trauma. Sarah (not her real name, because I'm still scared she's monitoring my dairy intake) labeled EVERYTHING. My yogurt had time stamps. My shower products had designated shelf zones. Even my cat's food bowl had a detailed feeding schedule chart. The day I found my socks arranged by color and fibonacci sequence, I knew one of us had to go.
The Human Subwoofer Next came Jake, who genuinely believed quiet hours were a suggestion, not a rule. Much like 83% of noise complaints in shared housing involve music, Jake's EDM addiction tested not only my patience but also my understanding of bass frequencies. Remember that time I tried sleeping at the ski lodge? Pure silence compared to Jake's 3 AM "practice sessions."
Toenail Terry: The Collection (Warning: This section is not for the squeamish)
You know how sometimes you discover something about someone that changes everything? Like finding out they put ketchup on ice cream, or they don't believe in washing their legs in the shower? Well, Terry took it to a whole new level.
I discovered The Collection while looking for the vacuum (ironic, considering the circumstances). There, in a perfectly organized tackle box, were dozens of labeled sandwich bags containing... toenail clippings. Each dated. Each categorized by toe. Each... I can't even continue.
The Ghost After Terry, I thought I'd hit roommate rock bottom. Then came The Ghost - a roommate so elusive I began to question their existence. Rent was paid. Dishes appeared and disappeared. Sometimes I'd hear shuffling at 4 AM. But in six months, I never saw them. Not once. I'm still convinced they were either a very considerate vampire or running from the CIA.
Current Situation Assessment Now? I live with two relatively normal humans who only occasionally burn popcorn and steal my oat milk. Apparently, having more than four roommates in five years correlates with increased stress levels, but honestly? I think collecting toenails should count as at least six roommates worth of trauma.
The silver lining? These experiences have given me enough material to write a horror novel. Or at least this blog post. And they make my current roommates' habit of leaving wet towels on the floor seem positively charming in comparison.
So, what's your worst roommate story? Please tell me someone else has dealt with weird collections. Because while I've mostly recovered from the toenail trauma (thanks, therapy!), I need to know I'm not alone in the roommate roulette game.
P.S. If you thought this was bad, you should hear about the time my roommate tried to start a fermented sock cheese business. Actually, maybe don't. Some stories should stay buried in the depths of my therapy sessions.
Editor's note: No toenails were harmed in the writing of this blog post. Though my sanity might never fully recover.