It’s Tuesday of finals week at my university. I live in the dorm, and every morning, I go to the dining hall to eat oatmeal.

I walk up to see someone scraping up the last half scoop. There is still half an hour left of breakfast.

Student Worker: “There is no more oatmeal.”

I look up to see a student worker shift lead.

Me: “Is there any more coming?”

Student Worker: “They aren’t making more.”

I mishear.

Me: “They are making more?”

Student Worker: “No more until lunch.”

Me: *Sadly looking down* “But there is never oatmeal at lunch.”

Student Worker: “What?”

Me: “Lunch never has oatmeal.”

She sighs and walks away, so I shuffle away, unsure what to do next. A “career” worker I’m friends with approaches to ask if I’ll be around over the summer, and then she asks what’s wrong. I tell her there is no oatmeal, and she cranes over the salad bar to look at the clock.

“Career” Worker: “Nuh-uh. That’s not okay. They shouldn’t be saying no; it’s still breakfast. I’ll go see.”

Me: “If I had dry oats, I could add hot water.”

She checks the hot storage and then heads to the back, while I stand there wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. [Student Worker] dramatically rolls her eyes while walking past me at about this time, which I assume is about something unrelated.

A few minutes later, [Student Worker] approaches me, claps her hands, and enthusiastically says:

Student Worker: “So, they are going to make a special batch of oatmeal, just. For. You!”

I get really excited and just say, “Yay!” Then, she continues.

Student Worker: “YOU’RE SO SPECIAL!”

I start to realize she might be upset about it, rather than sincere. But at that moment, my friend walks out with a bowl of dry oats — not even the quick oat kind. I thank her and look right into the student worker’s eyes.

Me: “These oats are dry. I’m going to put hot water on them.”

She was understandably speechless when I walked off, not because I was clever or scathing, but because what would you even say to that?

I went and sat at a table next to a friend with my hot water and dry oat soup, and I told her what had happened.

Apparently, [Student Worker] had been capricious to her, too! That same morning, my friend was trying to use the juice dispenser, and it wasn’t working. [Student Worker] walked up next to my friend and very slowly filled a cup with every working type of juice so my friend had to wait. My friend had thought she was maybe just oblivious but had hoped it was on purpose just because it was funny to be messed with so arbitrarily like that.

We started laughing so hard. The girl was being so aggressive for no reason, and it was just funny. Imagine being so salty about oatmeal and juice that you lash out like that.

I pointed out that it must be rough having to work during finals week, serving all these students who don’t have to work in the morning. For the sake of everyone around her, I hope her day gets better.

At the very least, I hope her overt passive-aggression brings her as much amusement today as it brought me.

Oh, and my oatmeal was sort of edible by the time breakfast closed, so I was shoveling some unseasoned bites in as we were kicked out. This literally just happened, so if there actually is oatmeal at lunch today for the first time ever, I’ll have to update you.

Living in the dorm, I am on good terms with everyone. I try to learn the names of the various custodians and staff, and I take pride in being polite and helpful.

Recently, maintenance came into the bathroom while I was on the toilet (in a stall), so they left to return when I was done. I didn’t see the man so I wasn’t sure who had come by. 

The toilet seat had been very loose, and I didn’t recognize the design to tighten it myself, so I went to mention it to the man who had been in the restroom three minutes before. His tools were in the hallway but I couldn’t find him anywhere. I had to go to class, so I grabbed a whiteboard marker and left a note on the mirror.

Note: “Dear Maintenance: Please tighten the toilet seat, second from the left.”

Later, I came back to find that the seat had been tightened, but as crooked as possible. This hurt my feelings because it felt very deliberate and passive-aggressive. I made a mental note to check in with my buddies on staff to see what had happened. I just don’t understand why someone would go through the extra effort to make it crooked; tightening the screws takes about two minutes and would straighten the seat. I don’t know how they even got it to stay crooked.

I didn’t see any maintenance members for a couple of days, so I couldn’t ask about it. Then, while I was in class, I got an email that was sent to the entire dorm. The resident director wrote a scathing email, dripping with disgust, about an inappropriate and disrespectful message.

I started shaking as I read about how this horribly offensive message written on the bathroom mirror showed a completely unacceptable violation of community standards, she was appalled to hear about it, etc.

I ultimately sent an email, asking politely what the offensive message said. I don’t expect a reply, but I figure that someone misrepresented it to her. I feel it was out of line to send that email without any proof that the offense took place, and it was detrimental to my well-being. Then again, I can’t blame the resident director too harshly; who would expect the staff to go out of their way to tell a bald-faced malicious lie, with no apparent benefit to their doing so?

I already usually just fix everything myself if I can, but now I’m REALLY not going to want to ask for anything. I really don’t handle people lying about me well.

I guess the moral of the story is that sometimes people just assume malicious intent from innocuous notes, and I should avoid those people. Unfortunately, this dorm is falling apart, but since there is no correct or effective way to ask maintenance to do anything, I might be able to accept that which I cannot change. It takes a fair amount of wisdom to figure out who I can trust versus who will just live rent-free in my head as I try to understand why; sometimes there is no “why.”

CONTENT WARNING: Violence, Animal Abuse

I like to consider myself a very gentle person. I live in the dorms. It’s against the dorm rules, but I recently acquired a semi-feral kitten, and I’ve been secretly taking care of her in my dorms.

One night, my roommate comes back drunk. He’s absolutely sloshed. He bangs open the door of the dorm, walks up to me, and presses his chest against mine.

Roommate: “I don’t f****** like you. I’mma… I’mma f****** kick your a**. You’re so f******… f****** uptight all the time. You gotta relaaaax some. Let’s fight. Come on. Let’s fight. Let’s get these feelings out and fight.”

Me: “Yeah, no. I’m not going to fight you. You’re drunk. Go to bed.”

He looks around the dorm. First, he knocks my books off of the table.

Roommate: “Come on. Fight me, man. Fight me. We gotta work… gotta work these feelings out.”

Me: “No.”

Then, he grabs my laptop and slams it against the wall. It breaks into pieces. I pull out my cell phone and start to dial 911 since I figure this has gone far enough, but he slaps that out of my hand, too, and stomps on it.

Roommate: “Come on, man. Be a f****** man, not a p***y. Fight me.”

Me: “No.”

I was looking for a way out now; I was planning to run to the Resident Advisor’s office.

My kitten chose this inopportune time to make a noise.  [Roommate]’s eyes lit on the kitten. Before I could stop him, he grabbed the kitten and slammed her against the wall. Hard.

Lord help me, I started giving him that beating he wanted. I grabbed my desk. Not stuff off of the desk. Not my books. I grabbed my whole desk and, in a fit of hysterical strength, I hit him with it.

He went down. I kept beating on him, punching and kicking. I didn’t let him stand up. The only thing that stopped me was hearing my kitten start to whine.

I grabbed her and ran out, looking for a late-night emergency vet clinic.

The next day, I got back into my dorm, and my roommate was in his room, apparently asleep. The next time I saw him awake and active, he had casts on. We didn’t talk about it. I don’t know if he even remembered it.

I requested emergency roommate reassignment from the RA, and we were reassigned.

I was in college in 1997. I ordered a pizza from a college-town pizza chain one Saturday night from my dorm.

The only payment I had was a check. I didn’t have cash or a credit card. The pizza was ridiculously cheap; I want to say it was $6.95, but back then, it could have been $4.95. I don’t remember. The important thing is the $0.95.

I rounded the check up to the next dollar. Yes, I wrote a check for $5.00 for a $4.95 pizza. Or maybe $6.00 for a $5.95. Either way, it was horrible.

I remember the delivery guy was super friendly. I was new at school, and he was commiserating with my move-in situation. Then, after I handed him the check:

Delivery Guy: “Wait, I have some change for you.”

Me: “Oh, no, keep the change.”

Delivery Guy: “No, here’s your nickel.”

I have never been more ashamed in my life. This episode still comes up when I try to sleep.

I have tipped the max ever since.

My roommates and I have thrown a couple of pretty big parties over the course of our college junior year. For some reason, the weekend before finals, my roommates really want to do another party.

Me: “With finals coming up next week, people aren’t going to be doing much partying. It’s finals — time to study. You guys know the drill. People will be wanting to party the next weekend once finals are over.”

They don’t care. They want to set up a party.

I don’t really want to do the party, but they’re more than welcome to put their money into it if they want to. No way am I contributing money toward any beer or alcohol. The only thing I do help with is driving them to the local liquor store that’s about three-quarters of a mile away and using my pickup truck to haul back three kegs of beer.

My two roommates spread the word about the party this coming Friday, and they talk another friend into coming over and doing the DJ stuff.

Everything is set up and ready early Friday afternoon. The evening starts and night is creeping in, and there are barely twenty people at any given time for the party. By about midnight, the first keg is empty and the second one is tapped. Usually, by 8:00 or 9:00 pm, we’re tapping the second keg, and midnight is the third keg.

A few people trickle in and out, and it’s boring. I tell my roommates this was a stupid time to do a party, and they just kind of grunt in agreement.

The kegs are kept in the basement. On the stairs leading down to the basement, you go down five steps, and on the landing is a side door leading outside. This door stays locked all the time; we never use it in the eighteen months we live at the place. Then, you turn to continue down the steps.

There are maybe a dozen people or so in the house, and it’s around 12:30 in the morning. My roommates are talking about calling it a night since the party is a bust. Right around that time, in walks a couple of guys and their girlfriends. They all pay the standard $5 for a solo cup and head downstairs.

About ten minutes later, someone we know that’s still at the party comes up to my roommates and me as we’re standing in the living room area on the main floor.

Friend: “You guys know those two couples that just came in?”

Roommate #1: “No, they were just looking for a party. Why?”

Friend: “They took the full keg out the side door.”

Roommate #2: “What?!”

The two guys and girls that just came into the party ten or fifteen minutes before were stealing the third untapped keg by using the side door on the basement stairs landing.

[Roommate #1] was the first one down the stairs and out the side door, and I was right on his heels. [Roommate #2] was slowly bringing up the rear. [Roommate #1] and I rounded the corner of the house and, sure enough, the two guys were at the street with the keg, about 100 feet away from us across the front lawn. They were about twenty feet short of their goal of putting the keg in the back of their car and driving off.

I’m faster than my roommates when running, by a long shot, and I passed my roommate easily. I was about two seconds away from reaching the guys with the keg when a beer bottle went zipping past my head and shattered against their car. My roommate knew he wasn’t fast enough to help me stop the guys, so he threw his beer bottle at them, almost hitting me in the process. The bottle missed me by about a foot and just barely missed one of the thieves. The sound and sight of the bottle shattering against their car caused them to drop the keg and try to make it to their car to get away.

I grabbed the first thief closest to me and threw him down to the ground, and I turned and grabbed the second thief before he could dive into the car and slammed him up against the car. By this time, my two roommates had caught up, and they picked the first guy I threw down and pinned him up against the car. Now the thieves’ girlfriends exited the car, and they were crying and pleading with us to not hurt their boyfriends.

I shoved the guy I had my hands on and told him to get the f*** out of there before I changed my mind. I told my roommates to let the other guy go. They protested a bit, but I told them we’d gotten the keg back and it was not worth having to deal with the cops if they got involved after we kicked the crap out of these two guys. They finally agreed and let the second guy go.

The thieves climbed into the car quickly and speed off. My roommates collected the keg and returned it to the basement.

After this incident, my roommates never wanted to hold another party at our place. I was okay with that decision.