Twentieth-century French philosopher and writer Jean-Paul Sartre said, “Hell is—other people!”
He probably would have requested a single in Dolan.
I venture to expand upon his declaration and proclaim: “Hell is—other people making their roommates afraid to get out of bed in the morning.” Exempting the anomaly known as the single in Dolan, everyone on this campus knows exactly what I mean: there is no greater killjoy than a roommate in a foul mood. It doesn’t matter if you like your roommate(s), as I happen to, or if everyday you misplace something of your roommate’s then deny knowing where it is in the hopes that they will slowly lose their mind and be forced to leave school for a semester. In a bad mood, a friend can become unbearable and a foe can become a [expletive deleted] [expletive deleted] who can go [expletive deleted]. They are, for the duration of their funk, The Misery Roommate.
The Misery Roommate, scientifically classified as Harmonius interruptus, appears without warning and can disappear as suddenly. They feed upon an uncomfortable atmosphere and often leave stress, awkward silences and fear in their wake. The Misery Roommate doesn’t know how or why, but they will make you pay. Zoologists recommend playing dead; while Harmonius interruptus may sniff around your “corpse” for a while, they will ultimately lose interest and leave you alone, preferring instead to seek out fresh prey.
Last week, one of my roomies was not in the best of spirits; I don’t know why and I certainly don’t fault her for it because there are times when I am just absolutely charming. What amazes me is that the problem doesn’t have to do with anything related to our townhouse or its inhabitants to deeply affect the home situation. No one really wants to go near the unhappy roomie, but at the same time no one wants to risk Grumpy’s wrath and be accused of purposely avoiding them. Hence, there is a thick scent of discomfort permeating the house (oh, wait, we just forgot to take the trash out). I play it smart (ok, cowardly a la George Costanza)—I avoid the potentially serious emotional issue and leave the house. Sometimes the best thing is to give space and accept the fact that you need to give ole Misery some time.
As a preventative measure, remember: the idiosyncrasies that Grandma thought were so adorable probably just piss off everyone else. You may like your REO Speedwagon CD; no one else does. No one. Be yourself, but don’t try to force everyone else to be like you, too. Someone once said to me, “Friends don’t let friends live with them.” This isn’t necessarily true, but it is important to keep in mind that when living with people, you have to accept that one bad day with the twenty-nine good ones.
I have to finish this column prematurely…one of my roommates caught sight of a draft and are throwing my stuff in the backyard. “NOT MY STUFFED JACK SKELLINGTON DOLL!”
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