When I was at college, I had a friend of the opposite sex record an answering machine message for me.
Message: “I can’t answer the phone right now; I’m not feeling like myself today. I’ll call back when I am feeling more like I did when I wasn’t feeling like I do now.”
I eventually had to change it after great consternation from my grandmother, who was Very Concerned that there was a woman in my dorm room.
I was in Italy for University and stayed in a dorm. We had a total of five people, and duties were immediately handed out. [Roommate #1] was told to handle the purchases of all cleaning supplies, and we all pitched in money.
A couple of hours later, we were treated to an impressive amount of cleaning supplies. We had, like, a vacuum, two brooms, two mops, a squeegee, a toilet brush, several buckets, multiple brushes, packets of cloths and sponges, wet wipes, at least fifteen different kinds of cleaning agents, and whatever else I forgot. Basically, way beyond budget.
This was partially our fault — we didn’t say exactly what to get, besides excluding laundry — but it was way overdoing it.
Roommate #2: “That’s a lot. How much did you spend?”
Roommate #1: “Yeah. I used my own money. You didn’t give me enough to cover it at all. I don’t mind. We can be very clean now.”
Me: “Right. Let’s have the receipts?”
Roommate #1: “Oh, I’m not sure I took them all. Never mind about the money; it’s on me. I hope that’s all we need.”
Roommate #3: *Poking through the supplies* “That’s way more than enough. What’s this? Tile cleaner… glass cleaner… drain cleaner…”
Roommate #1: “Well, they are all for different jobs, so I had to cover everything possible.”
Me: “This is like… neat freak, OCD type of cleaning. How do you clean at home?”
Roommate #1: “I never did. I have a maid who does everything.”
Roommate #3: “Oh. Well, most people don’t need this much.”
So, while we did get a rich roommate who had never cleaned nor done any household chores in her life, she was far from snobby or lazy and was keen to learn. She just goes overboard so we’re swamped with too many products.
The hallway my college dorm room was in had a large whiteboard posted along one wall. Unsurprisingly, it became a locus for a variety of graffiti. As it filled up, a few hallway residents denoted themselves as the “Keepers of the Board.” They had a notebook where they’d write down anything they deemed interesting or amusing enough and erase the board to make room for further doodling.
One day, my roommate and I came across the Keepers busily at work recording the most recent whiteboard notations. They were discussing a particular graffito and trying to decide whether they felt it was witty enough to merit entry into the annals.
My roommate leaned in and read the item.
Roommate: “There are two secrets to success. Number one: Never tell anyone everything you know.”
After a pause to digest this morsel of wisdom, he asked:
Roommate: “Wait, what’s the other one?”
The Keepers traded an amused look.
Keeper #1: “Quick! Write that down!”
Another one did so, attributing it to my roommate. Then, they dutifully recorded the entire exchange in the notebook before erasing the message from the board.
I am always surprised when people leave oppressive or otherwise unhappy situations and then try to instill their values in their new situation. A friend of mine in college came from a very religious background and chose to leave, risking being shunned for his choice. We (his friends) were understanding and supportive when he asked questions or needed help adjusting, but there were times when he reverted to his old habits and got mad when others didn’t automatically go along with it.
I (a girl) was in my room when there was a knock at the next door. I heard some words being exchanged, and then the door slammed. A second later, there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and [Friend] came right in. He was followed by his roommate, who gave me an apologetic look.
Friend: “[My Dorm Neighbor] is hanging out with [Some Guy] with the door closed! I knocked and told them the door needs to stay open, but he flipped me off and shut the door in my face!”
Me: “I mean… It’s just as weird as leaving your apartment door open.”
Friend: “There are public areas if they want to hang out. There’s no need to do that. If we were in [his community], there would be so much backlash.”
Friend’s Roommate: “[Friend], that happens a lot outside of [Community].”
Friend: “Why do they have to have the door closed, though? If we were all hanging out, the door would be open.”
Me: “So…”
I pointed to the door that had closed behind them.
Friend: “Oh, no!”
He yanked the door open and grabbed the trash can to prop it open. He looked a little pale, so I offered him a seat.
Me: “[Friend]. Listen, I know you’re going through a lot. I know it’s hard and scary, and—”
Friend: *Very defensive* “I’m not scared.”
Me: “Okay. I know it’s different and takes time to adjust, but you left that community by choice.”
Friend’s Roommate: “College is a melting pot; it’s a lot of different people coming together to get an education.”
Friend: “Well, what would their parents think? That’s just disrespectful.”
Friend’s Roommate: “Part of college is being on your own. You make your own decisions, and you live with them.”
Friend: “Ridiculous. I can’t imagine. My parents would never allow that.”
Me: “You can disapprove, and you can do something different, but you can’t expect everyone to change their life because it’s not how you were raised.”
He walked out. [Friend]’s roommate and I exchanged a shrug and he left. Our friendship deteriorated as the semester went on, and eventually, [Friend] was gone. [Friend]’s roommate said his parents came and packed up all his things while he was in class, and that was the end of their adventure.
The comments under this story reminded me of an incident from long ago.
I was studying computer science, and part of the final year coursework was a huge software development group project. Four of us were Australian-born. The fifth, Amr, was from the Middle East. His father was a diplomat. They came to Australia when Amr was twelve, and when the next posting came, it was decided that Amr should finish his education in Australia.
So, by the time I met Amr, he had spent ten years in Australia, most of it without his parents. He was an Aussie bloke in most aspects. I knew he was Muslim, but I also knew he was not a strict adherent. For example, he drank more (much more) than the rest of us. What I didn’t know, which is important for this story, was about Halal and Haram.
We’d typically spend our Saturdays at one of our homes, a big sharehouse near the university with a kitchen and plenty of living rooms. We’d take turns bringing food, and this particular Saturday, I bought two family-sized meat pies and some salad. I stopped working a little before lunchtime to prepare the food. I put the hot pies and cold salad out, and people grabbed plates and took what they wanted.
I was in the kitchen when Amr came back for seconds.
Amr: “This pie is amazing. What is it?”
Me: “Beef and bacon.”
Yeah, I shudder to write that now!
Amr: “OH, NO! Muslims aren’t allowed to eat pork!”
I saw the look on his face, and I started apologising. I knew about Kosher, so I thought I understood what that meant to him. I could not have been more wrong!
Amr: “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME! Now I can’t have a second slice!”
In case you are curious, Amr finished his degree and was not allowed to stay in the country as his student visa expired. He could not go back to his home country because they have compulsory service and he would be an Aussie boy in a Middle Eastern army. So, he moved to New Zealand, who was happy to have him. His plan was to move back to Australia after he got New Zealand citizenship, but I believe by then he was very happy with his new home. I hope he has discovered turkey bacon!
