Our roommate has ricocheted from a long-term relationship into a new girlfriend. We all think it’s way too soon, but as much as we think that, and as annoying as we all find her, we are happy for him.

Me: “[Roommate]! Has your girlfriend been eating food from the shared fridge again?”

Roommate: “I’m sorry, man. She gets hungry and I don’t have anything she likes.”

Me: “Get something she does like, then. Order in, or spend time at her place. Don’t let her eat my food; it’s expensive and I have to go across town to get it.”

Roommate: “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her. Just, you know, we have fun hanging around with everyone.”

Me: *Sigh* “Fine, it’s fine. Just have a word before tomorrow. I’m getting my grandad’s chilli peppers and I’m not sharing with anyone.”

He says he will. I don’t know if he will do it or if she is ignoring him. A couple of days later, [Roommate]’s girlfriend shows up again and goes straight to his room. I’m in and out all night, and I arrive to find the two of them in a shouting match. The girlfriend pushes past me to leave the house.

Me: “That looked bad. You had an argument?”

Roommate: “Yeah, I don’t think she’s coming back.”

Me: “I’m sorry. This isn’t about the food, is it? I’m sorry if it is, but it had to be said.”

Roommate: “Oh, no. She was angry about that. But when I said it was you, I guess she sneaked into the kitchen to eat some of your food.”

Me: “No, not my chillis.”

Roommate: “Yeah, she took a big mouthful and started crying about how hot they were. She said you poisoned her on purpose and I had to make you apologise.”

Me: “Mate, she wasn’t good for you, and she was annoying as h***.”

He moped around for a few weeks, and after a few months, he found a great girl. They moved in together a while later. They come round every so often and she even brings her own food to share. Definitely an upgrade!

I share a house with some other girls. Normally, we “interview ” a potential new housemate together. But with the end room being vacant for so long, we have a current housemate’s friend move in immediately. 

She seems okay, but she’s so dramatic. If she doesn’t have man problems, she has car issues. If not that, she has family problems. Failing that, some customer at work is either hitting on her or saying something crazy. It’s hard to feel sorry for her when all she does is complain.

I have a day off. I catch up on some reading in my room, do a bit of tidying round the house, finally go for a run, and come back as everyone else is arriving from work.

The new housemate has cornered a few people before they can even get their coats off.

New Girl: “Ugh, I had the worst day ever.”

Housemate: “Okay, well, great, but let me get inside, yeah, hun?”

New Girl: “Ugh, it’s like you don’t care.”

Housemate: “We do care. I just want to get inside. It’s raining.”

New Girl: “As I was saying, it was the worst day. This creep wouldn’t leave me alone; he was all in my face. Then, my boss told me off because of my top. Then—”

Me: “Hang on, [New Girl]. You haven’t been to work. You’ve sat on that sofa all day. Did you not see me around the house?”

New Girl: “Well, I mean… I had the worst day yesterday.”

Housemate: “Yesterday was Sunday, babe.”

New Girl: “Ugh! You guys are so mean.”

I felt bad, but still, keep the BS to a believable level.

I am taking a course on Middle English. It is very different from modern English, especially in its pronunciation. Seriously, nearly every letter in the alphabet was pronounced differently than now. Look up Chaucer or “Sir Gawain And The Green Knight” in its original form if you’re curious, especially an audio version, and prepare to not understand a word of it.

I am preparing for a written test later this week, for which we have to learn a long list of Middle English pronouns and verb tenses. (Another fun fact: these varied depending on the region, so there were a LOT more of them than nowadays.) For me, the easiest way to learn lists like this is to repeat them out loud until I can recite the entire thing without looking at the paper. Pacing or walking in circles also helps, and if I can find a sort of rhythm to the list, it becomes even easier.

So, there I am, walking circles around my room, repeating Middle English words in an almost chanting sort of way. I’m home alone and it’s warm, so I’ve left the door to my room open. I’m so in the studying zone, I don’t hear the front door open, nor the footsteps on the stairs nearing my door.

Me: “He, heo, theo, tho, thei…”

Suddenly, my housemate appears in my doorway, looking bewildered.

Housemate: “What are you doing?”

I’m thrown out of my rhythm, and the adjustment is difficult enough that my reaction isn’t the most helpful.

Me: “What does it look like?”

My housemate looks at the paper in my hand and the space I’ve cleared for pacing.

Housemate: “Summoning demons?”

Everything finally clicks in my mind. I realize how odd I must’ve looked to him, walking in circles and chanting in a strange language, and I burst out laughing. [Housemate] joins in, and when we’re done, I wave the paper at him.

Me: “Summoning demons is Latin; this is Middle English.”

I then explained that this was my way of studying. He seemed reassured that he did not share living space with a demon-worshipper, and I even aced that test. But I did try to study a little quieter after that, especially after I started studying Old English.

I rent a room in a house with a few other women. It’s a typical setup — a communal area and a small bedroom each. I don’t spend a lot of time in the communal area, but even less when [Roommate]’s boyfriend is there.

We shouldn’t even have visitors, but everyone looks the other way, especially if it is only for a night. But [Roommate] has him around for almost a week at a time. He’s creepy and obnoxious and I’m sure he steals food from the fridge. I only have one more year left at uni and then I will move, so I kind of switch off and just keep a distance.

I grab myself something to eat and cannot find my spatula anywhere. It’s a big, pink, silicone one, so it’s hard to miss. I make do without, but I’m keen to know where it is or if I need to replace it. I’ve asked everyone, aside from [Roommate], so I ask her when I see her next.

Me: “Hey, you don’t know where my spatula is, do you?”

Roommate: “Oh, we used it, sorry. I’ll wash it up.”

Me: “No worries. I just couldn’t find it in the kitchen anywhere. I don’t mind washing it. Where did you put it?”

Roommate: “Oh, yeah. It’s in my room.”

Me: *Oblivious* “Why would it be in your room?! You can’t cook in there with the smoke alarm.”

Roommate: “Well, sometimes we borrow it. Well, not all the time, but when he’s over, we—”

Me: “Oh, God, I cook with that!”

Roommate: “I’ll wash it!”

Me: “You will buy me a new one and never borrow anything from me again!”

Disgusted, I stopped talking to [Roommate]. A couple of weeks went by and she still hadn’t replaced the spatula. I reminded her and reminded her. She eventually refused, as the one I bought was “too expensive” and “no one needs a spatula as expensive as that.” 

I was going to leave it there, but she lied to the rest of the house and made me look like the bad guy. I told them what actually happened and they “banned” her from having guests around.

I rent a room in a large house. I’m the only guy in a house full of women, so it makes sense that I have the room with an en suite and the rest of the women share the much bigger bathroom. It works out okay, actually. I have more space but I sweeten the deal by buying extra toiletries for the house. They get extra privacy. Win-win.

Out of the blue, one of the newer women, [Housemate] starts to kick up a fuss. She has fallen out with another woman who borrowed something or other, and she demands to switch rooms with me.

It goes on for days. Initially, no one wants me to swap, but eventually, everyone is so fed up with the constant moaning that I feel like I have no choice.

A few weeks after the change:

Housemate: “There’s no hand soap left.”

Me: “Okay?”

Housemate: “Well, when are you getting more?”

Me: “I don’t know, never?”

Housemate: “But we’ve run out.”

Me: “I heard you. I only used to buy it as I had the bigger room with the bathroom. I don’t anymore, so I don’t see why I should.”

Housemate: “Don’t be like that.”

Me: “You want the private bathroom, you have to stock it.”

Housemate: “Fine, whatever. I will buy my own.”

As other things ran out, the rest of the house would come to me asking about the missing items. I would gently remind them that I only ever did this as a favour and to ask [Housemate] if she would do the same now she had the biggest room.

This caused a bigger scene than the original fight. The house was divided. Many were angry at [Housemate], [Housemate] thought I should just keep paying, and some wanted [Housemate] kicked out altogether!

[Housemate] left eventually. I was offered the bigger room again, but I was so done with the drama that I had already decided to find a place of my own.